Breaking
by OhMyWord
Summary: It didn’t take long to be consumed and I knew we couldn’t keep this up forever, but right then, I was in it. All the way. And when each moment with her was everything, how could I possibly think of all the other nothings?
1. Prologue: Breaking the Pact

Author's Note: New story, it's very different than usual. There are pictures for this, with any luck I'll post those and the first actual chapter (which just needs a final edit) tomorrow. Thanks in advance as always for reading.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

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Breaking

Prologue: Breaking the Pact

What was I going to miss?

The sky, with it's forever expanding blue, and how the air was always ripe with the scent of wine even though no one else could smell it but me. I would miss the countless rows of grapevines and the warmth present even at night. I would miss sneaking into the vineyards to read among the green of the leaves and the brown of the soil, sitting on the porch when everyone was asleep, and how the summer light turned everything a little more golden.

What was I going to miss the most? My father.

I readjusted and came back to the present.

He always looked at me like he could see straight through. "Baby, I love you so much." I stared at his eyes; I would miss that perfect shade of ice blue.

A final kiss, a little more urgent and a little more passionate than the one before it.

"I love you too." I looked down; I didn't even know how to use one, the silver weight felt alien in my hands.

"I can do it for you; I'd only be a second behind."

I looked up. "What are you going to miss the most?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"There is nothing holding me here, nothing I want. This is freedom; _this_ is deciding your own fate." A significant look and a cool hand on my face. "I can do it for you."

I shook my head. "No, it has to be at the same time."

A nod.

Our positions changed and I felt the cool barrel on my sweating skin.

"I'll see you on the other side."

I was quiet. We stared at each other, waiting for me to be ready. My body shook. I closed my eyes and breathed in once; I felt cool fingers touch my hand.

Absolute stillness.

The crack of the first shot spread and echoed for miles.

There was not a second.


	2. One: History Lessons

Author's Note: Ok, first official chapter; thank you for reading.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

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One: History Lessons

You know that cliché about today being the first day of the rest of your life? Well this particular day was mine.

"Patient is -,"

Carlisle cleared his throat disapprovingly.

"_Isabella Swan _is twenty one years old, committed involuntarily by her father and doctor in Sonoma, California. There was some kind of suicide pact between her and her boyfriend. He went through with it; she didn't. Her father found them on their neighbor's property, doesn't know how long she'd been out there. Coroner's report said it was probably several hours."

I glanced over at Carlisle as we walked toward the patient's room. "History?"

I looked down at the chart. "Her mother committed suicide when she was fourteen at their home in Washington; Isabella found her in bed. Father moved her to California. She attempted suicide at sixteen. She had four doctors over the next couple of years, looks like a couple of misdiagnoses -,"

"Let me guess, drug her up and throw her away…" Carlisle shook his head.

I perused the papers, "met her boyfriend at eighteen and stopped therapy shortly after, that's all we know."

Carlisle clucked his tongue. "Poor thing." He always made it personal; he felt too strongly for everyone. Although, it did make him one hell of a good doctor.

We gathered with the usual group of people; Isabella Swan was going to meet her team of caregivers, plus some of the students. This was a teaching hospital. I handed the chart over to Carlisle and took my place behind him, then followed him into the room. The two of us, plus the primary nurse (who happened to be Carlisle's wife) stood closest to the new patient, while everyone else filed in around the foot of her bed.

She looked terrified, as if she was awaiting the inevitable execution she had desired before. She was dressed in loose fitting pajamas that covered all but her hands, neck, and face. Her hair was long and partially in her face and the more everyone looked at her, the tighter her grip on the sheets became; I could see her shaking from my place a few feet back. The students were looking at her like she was a new toy for them to play with.

Typically, this was the part where I would speak up and tell everyone who the patient was, but Carlisle hated that policy. He said he didn't like talking about a new patient like they weren't sitting in the same room; he demanded everyone be debriefed before the introductions. He cleared his throat and smiled. "Hi Isabella, I'm Dr. Cullen; this is Dr. Masen and Nurse Cullen. We'll be taking care of you while you're here with us." His voice and bedside manner put most people at ease, but I could already tell it wasn't working with this girl. She didn't look at him; instead her gaze darted frantically at every other face in the room. She brought her knees up.

When she spoke, her voice sounded very small. "Who are they?"

Carlisle kept looking at her as he spoke. "The rest of our team; this is a teaching hospital which means the students come with us to meet new patients. It helps them to learn about you."

This seemed to make her more afraid. She looked down while Carlisle kept talking; he introduced everyone else in turn, attempting to breed some familiarity. It didn't look like she was listening. One of the students in the back took a step forward to better see her; he reminded me of a visitor at the zoo.

"No."

Carlisle stopped talking at the sound of her voice and took a small step closer, which was a mistake. He waited for her to speak again. She looked around at everyone. "No," she said louder. The first day for a patient, especially one that arrived unwillingly, could be traumatic; I moved over to put myself between her and the gawking students. I shot a glare over my shoulder at them and they stood still; she wasn't a medical oddity.

Someone in the back snickered and it was enough to make her snap.

She closed her eyes and put her hands into her hair. A strangled noise came from her throat, building into a scream; she curved over herself, putting her head to her knees and sobbed.

"If you don't need to be in here, get out!" I yelled over my shoulder and the students left, looking curious and disappointed. I kept my place at the foot of the bed.

"I couldn't do it…" she rocked and her grip on her hair tightened; I was worried she would hurt herself. "I couldn't do it…" She repeated the phrase over and over, every muscle in her body rigid. Esme hurried around me to the other side of her bed and gently pried her fingers loose which just made her sob louder until it was the only thing I could hear.

Carlisle held her by the upper arms, pushing her down onto the bed as she cried. Esme put a hand to her face and murmured words I couldn't hear until gradually, her crying became just whimpers and quiet tears running down her face. Esme stayed with her while Carlisle motioned for me to follow him outside.

He spoke quietly. "We have her on suicide watch, but I want you to keep an eye on her."

"Should we sedate her?"

"No." I didn't know why I even asked; Carlisle was known for only using drugs when absolutely necessary.

We walked back in to check and for the moment, Esme had managed to soothe her. She and Carlisle walked out together after a minute and left me there. I sat in a chair and waited for her to speak first.

After fifteen minutes, she did. Her voice sounded haggard, as if she had aged forty years in the last hour. "Who are you?" She stared at the far wall, her gaze unwavering.

"I'm Edward." I had meant to say Dr. Masen. "We'll be doing your one on one therapy together. I wanted to introduce myself."

She rolled onto her side, facing away from me. "You just did."

I didn't say anything; I realized now that she wasn't a fan of my long silences.

Her voice sounded choked, like she had started crying again. "I like to swim."

It was something. "Oh?"

She was still on her side; it made it sound like she was mumbling. "I don't want to talk anymore."

"Ok," I stood up. "It was nice meeting you, Miss Swan."

I had back to back appointments for the rest of the day, plus enough paperwork that I had to bring some with me when I left that evening. I gathered everything into my briefcase, which honestly just made me feel like I was playing doctor rather than being one. It was all I held, no coat necessary in the perpetual predictability that was Southern California's weather. I didn't realize I'd forgotten my reading glasses until I was in the parking lot, which would completely defeat the purpose of bringing my work home with me unless I wanted to spend the next few hours squinting at the lines of type. I threw my things into my car and trudged back inside, which was where I remembered that my keys, including the one to my office, were sitting on the passenger seat of my car. I sighed and thumped my head lightly on my locked office door. The paperwork could wait until tomorrow, couldn't it?

"Edward," Carlisle's too awake voice broke into my debate, "heading home?"

I turned around, trying to appear as professional as I was supposed to be. "Yeah, just…finishing up a couple of things."

"Have you checked on Isabella Swan tonight?"

"No, isn't she on watch?"

"Please do it before you leave," he said it in a manner that meant it wasn't up for further discussion. He left with a perfunctory "goodnight" and I decided to forgo retrieving my glasses altogether, instead making my way down to Isabella's room. I stood outside her door, my sleep deprived brain unsure what the proper protocol was for an evening check by a patient's doctor. I motioned for a nurse, the lucky man who just happened to be in charge that night, and he jogged over.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to know how Isabella Swan's doing." He looked confused for a moment so I added, "it's her first day."

He glanced at the room door before answering, "she was fine at last check, didn't say anything, just stared out the window."

"When's your next round?"

"Ten minutes."

I nodded and pursed my lips for a second, "well, keep an eye on her, ok?" I wasn't sure why I said that.

The one redeeming feature about my miniscule apartment was that I didn't have to take any freeways to get there. It wasn't a bad apartment by any stretch; it was just…there. One apartment, in one of several identical complexes around town that must have been designed by the same architect. There were rows of palm trees that I could see from the balcony and on the rare day I was home in the afternoon, I could see the smog that was almost as low as the city skyline.

I loosened my tie as I walked inside and tossed it on the floor, then backed up and grabbed it to set it in its proper place in the bedroom. I ran a hand through my ragged hair and went to the balcony, grateful to be out of the atmosphere of overly re-circulated air. I took a deep breath, the knowledge that this pollution was worse than being in the hospital not lost on me. The city lights blocked out any hope for starlight so I stared straight ahead at the city still bustling with activity. I should have been making dinner, or ordering take-out; I should have showered the day off me, changed into more comfortable clothing, but staring out at that bright oblivion, I didn't really care.


	3. Two: New Neighbors

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long, I've been writing like crazy without editing so I had to go back and it took forever. Thanks for reading, I know this is very different from my usual stuff.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

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Two: New Neighbors

After a while, the hospital decided I wasn't going to kill myself after all and let me get on with things. I met a new nurse who I hoped was going to be my savior, but she wouldn't so much as give me a Valium. Her expression said she'd heard my argument before so I apologized for my lack of creativity and asked if she'd give me one anyway – I couldn't sleep and besides, everyone else got one at night. My story was mostly true, though I always did fall asleep eventually; my body could only take so much before it gave out. I told her it would help with my healing process and that made her laugh out loud but still refuse. I was a little afraid of arguing any more with her; she was an awfully solid looking woman.

Once I gave up with Nurse Hatchet, I continued with my exploration. There really wasn't much to see and what was around was a lovely shade of mental institution white, gray, or beige. Fortunately I suppose, we were allowed to wear our own clothing so I didn't disappear completely into the scenery when I stood against a wall. Though that didn't sound like the worst idea.

Did you know chameleons don't change color just to blend with their environment? There are several trigger factors with regard to color change – hormones, the weather, communication, and their mood to name a few. Their skin contains cells that have this pigment which can reflect a light's different wavelengths. They are able to absorb or reflect certain wavelengths and this changes their color.

My current color was grayish brown. I didn't really have a reason; it was an arbitrary decision. If I thought about it more, it probably had something to do with the smog and the concrete and how nothing but palm trees seemed to grow around here. At least, that's all I could see from my perch in what was referred to as the dayroom. It was a large, three walled nook that stood across from the nurse's station containing various forms of entertainment, none of which included reading material. I saw one woman with a book though, so I knew it was somehow possible to get my hands on something remotely intellectual.

For the time being, I stared out the window.

"Isabella Swan?" A voice I vaguely remembered called my name and I turned toward the sound. Despite the similar scrubs, I was able to pick her out of the various nurses milling around. I remembered that her hands were soft and pale; and I knew they smelled like antibacterial soap and aloe. Her hair was pulled back loosely and a few strands had escaped at the back of her neck. She was way too pretty to be working at a place like this.

I could have had an attitude and ignored her, but something compelled me to walk over. I didn't say anything.

Her scrubs were green, link a mint. "We have a new room for you," she smiled. "It's much nicer than your old one; your things are already there." She touched my elbow lightly to lead me away.

My things?

I was under the impression I didn't have anything here besides the pajamas I was currently wearing. She took me through a short maze that I forgot immediately and stopped in a hallway near a partially opened door. "Ok, you're going to have a roommate; her name is Rosalie -,"

"A roommate?"

"Yes," she put on a reassuring look, "it may take some getting used to, but things will be fine." Before I could say anything, she opened the door all the way and stepped inside. "Rose, your new roommate is here," she said brightly. I took a small step into the doorway.

I was struck first by how attractive she was, stretched out across the bed with a magazine as if she was on some kind of vacation. Blonde and tall, her legs went on for miles. She looked up at me dismissively. "I liked Irina better."

"Rose," the nurse tsked, "this is Isabella; she'll be staying with us for a little while." She motioned me into the room. My bed appeared to be on the far side; a black bag rested on top of it. There was a window situated between the beds; it was the kind that didn't open. The closet was on Rosalie's side and I was pretty sure my meager belongings wouldn't be welcomed there. The nurse, whose last name I now remembered was Cullen, said a few more things that I didn't really listen to before she left.

I would describe my color now as orange because for whatever reason I'd always associated that with awkwardness. I was going back and forth with myself over whether I should say hello when she did it for me. "So, what's your problem?" She didn't look up from her magazine.

"What?" I sat gingerly on my new bed, like Rosalie would get upset if I got too comfortable.

"What's wrong with you?" She tapped her temple twice.

Oh. "I don't know." I sat the duffel bag on my lap and unzipped it.

"Bipolar," she announced. She turned onto her side and looked at me, "that's what they think right now."

My bag was mostly filled with clothes, although when I pushed them aside I also found a pair of shoes – the kind that slipped on, no laces allowed here lest I fashion a noose with them. There were also no books, pictures, tokens from my childhood. That was my father for you.

Rosalie stretched one leg and touched her toes to the nightstand that sat between the beds. "You can use that, it's empty."

I deposited most of the contents of my bag and then changed as quickly as possible on the opposite side of the bed, slipping my shoes on when I was finished. I sat in awkward silence, wondering if I was still allowed to roam the area now that I had a room. Just as I was finally deciding to go back to the dayroom, I liked the big window, Nurse Hatchet came in. "Checks. Time for your first one on one," she directed at me. "Follow me."

"Who do you have?" Rosalie asked from the bed.

"I don't remember."

"Have you met Dr. Masen yet? He's tasty."

"Alright, let's go," Hatchet said.

We took an elevator that you needed some sort of key for up a couple of levels and then wound our way through hallways that all looked exactly the same. At one point we crossed a huge open mezzanine area and ended our walk at a row of mahogany doors. I suppose the doctors didn't like the institutional look anymore than I did. I noticed the walls were painted a warmer shade of beige as well. "Your appointment will last an hour and Dr. Masen will call the nurse to walk you back to your unit when you're finished." She walked briskly back in the direction we came from while I speculated over if I was suppose to knock or walk straight inside.

I knocked and heard a muffled voice telling me to come in. I walked into an office that was just as mahogany as every other therapist's office I'd ever been inside. I immediately raised my chin and put on the attitude; this was the part of the game I was familiar with. The doctor was at his desk, straightening up a stack of papers; he wore glasses and looked young. I thought briefly that maybe he was one of those prodigy guys you see on the news; the kind that enroll in college when they're thirteen. "Take a seat," he gestured in front of him; there was a couch and a chair. I sat in the chair and didn't speak.

He didn't speak either and that's when I remembered who he was from the first day. The silence wore on while we regarded each other. Upon closer inspection, he didn't look as young as I first thought. And he looked tired. Actually, more so than that he looked…weary. I counted the seconds passing until I couldn't take it anymore. "Aren't you supposed to ask me questions or something?"

He looked like he was suppressing a smirk. "Is there a question you'd like me to ask?"

"No."

"Alright then."

We went back to our uncomfortable standoff. I sighed and leaned back into the chair; I tried to count the minutes, but lost track. "You know," I said after a while, "Marilyn Monroe is buried somewhere near here."

"Are you a fan?" He slipped off his glasses.

"I guess as much as the next person."

Ridiculous stupid silent silence.

"Did you know that part of the reason Carl Jung ended his relationship with Freud was because Freud slept with Jung's wife?"

That smirk came back. "That's just a rumor. Were you aware Freud was considered the favorite child by his mother?"

I filed the information away. "Nazis burned Freud's books in the street before he moved to London." I paused, "did you know they lock up the knitting needles here?"

He nodded.

"And nail clippers, files, cig-,"

"May I ask how you know all this?" He folded his arms over the desk.

"I read."

"What do you read?"

"Everything."

"Do you have a favorite?"

I hesitated; I knew this was a ploy, that he was going to attempt to play off my enjoyment of books to get me to start talking. But I couldn't stop myself and anyway I knew our time had to be about up, "Austen, I think. It's hard to narrow it down."

"Hmm…," he looked at his desk. "'We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be'." He grinned in satisfaction.

I snapped my partially opened mouth shut.

"Mans-,"

"I know which one it's from."

He sat up. "Ok, our time is almost up and I need to tell you a couple of things before you go…you and I will meet Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays at one o'clock. It will essentially be up to Dr. Cullen and me to chart your progress. There are other things you will be required to attend, a group session every afternoon. And one or more activities – an art class -,"

I raised an eyebrow, "art?" He looked up and caught my eye and I thought maybe we shared a moment of mutual understanding; the art class thing was such a cliché.

"Yes, there's also yoga if you'd prefer, and -,"

I snorted, this was so L.A.

He ignored me. "Nurse Klein will be able to tell you more about those."

"Who's that?"

"She brought you over here."

"Ah, Hatchet."

He grinned at his paper. "Ok, I think that's enough for today, Isabella." He lifted the receiver of his phone and typed in a four digit extension; he told a nurse on the other end to come and get me. "Do you have any questions before you go?"

I thought about it, but could only think of one. "What day is it?"

"Friday."

The nurse came in then and led me back to my white, gray, and beige hell.

Later that afternoon, something was wrong with Rosalie. She'd been gone when I first got back from therapy and I relished in my alone time; when she came back she looked agitated. She picked her magazine up off the bed and threw it at the closet door; our door was open and I thought about jumping up and leaving, but didn't. Instead, I sat there, staring at the opposite wall. Rosalie sat on her bed, then got up, flung open the closet and got down on her hands and knees; she mumbled something that sounded like "where the fuck?" After a minute, she found what she was looking for – shoes – and jammed them on her bare feet. She stood up and looked at me, "congratulations, this room is now a single." She stormed out and I scrambled off the bed to see where she was going; I didn't know how she managed to look beautiful and dramatic like that, but she did. I stood outside in the wide hallway and watched her get stopped by an orderly; he said something while she tried to walk around him. When he tried to touch her upper arm, she lost it.

"Don't you _fucking touch me!_" She tried to shove him out of her path and when that didn't work, she spun around and bolted toward my end of the hall. Her outburst got the attention of two of the nurse's, they exchanged a glance and I saw one produce a needle. Instinctively, I shrunk back into the wall. One caught her arm and stopped her short. "_No, no, no, no!_" She screamed over and over, squirming in their grasp. Watching her, she looked so absolutely terrified, made my heart hurt. Sometime during this, Dr. Masen appeared; he jogged over to the scene. It distracted her enough that one of the nurses was able to plunge the needle into Rosalie's arm; I could see her body shaking from my doorway. She sunk toward the floor and Dr. Masen caught her, swinging her up and into his arms like she was weightless; her arms were limp over her middle. Everyone ignored me as they passed by.

Another girl had stepped out of her room; she looked at me wide eyed.

"What's wrong with her?" I asked after they were gone.

She shut her door and tiptoed across the hall. "She had a visitor today, her husband."

That surprised me, but I didn't say so.

"You're Rosalie's roommate now?"

I nodded.

She didn't say anything right away and I walked the rest of the way back into my room, knowing she would probably follow. I sat on my bed.

"My condolences," she grinned and I bit my tongue, wanting to defend Rosalie, but unsure how. "You know, I'm not actually supposed to be in your room."

"Another one of their rules?"

She nodded.

I didn't really care about getting in trouble, what more could they do to me? "So, what's wrong with her?" I asked again.

She shrugged. "They aren't really sure. I heard she's always been this way, all I really know is what she did to get in here." She came in a little further and sat on the edge of Rosalie's bed. "I guess she flipped out a while back and pawned her wedding ring and used the money to go to Frisco. She told me she blew a guy in the bathroom of some bar to get enough money for a hotel room. She's thinking this was all a great idea until her husband found her and brought her here."

I tried not thinking about what that must have been like; I looked up at the girl. "So, what's wrong with you?" It seemed like the introductory question for everyone, like in college when you ask people what their major is, not that I actually attended.

She wrung her hands in her lap before raising the sleeve of her shirt up to her forearm; she turned it palm up and stretched it out. I swallowed heavily, mesmerized by the rows and rows of jagged cuts up her arm; one near the crook of her elbow looked fresh. She pulled her sleeve down and shrugged again. "Can't deal, I guess."

I nodded slowly, "you just…want it to show."

She smiled and I think, in that anyway, we understood each other.

I was in my room alone that night, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the light to come back. After a while, I thought I could hear his voice; he liked to hum to me when I couldn't sleep. I'd curl into his chest and hold onto him and he'd tell me to never let go. My hands would always end up in his hair, loosened messily around his shoulders. He'd kiss my forehead and hum some song I'd never heard and even though we did this every night, it never failed to calm me.

I wiped at my warm tears.

"I miss you."


	4. Three: Visiting Hours

Author's Note: Thank you for reading; it makes my day.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

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Three: Visiting Hours

My favorite story from Greek mythology is about Persephone, queen of the Underworld. Before her abduction she lived in such a way that at any moment, she could be gone. She also stayed away from the other gods, becoming a part of nature. One day, she was kidnapped by Hades and brought to live with him, but after a great outcry, Hades was forced to let her go. Hermes was sent to retrieve her after a ruling by the Fates that if Persephone was to eat or drink before being rescued, she would have to live in the Underworld for an eternity. Tragically, she was tricked by Hades into eating pomegranate seeds making her place with the Underworld solidified; the new ruling being that she had to return for a season once a year.

When she is under the ground, the earth is barren and cold; the colors are leeched from the world and nothing will grow.

It was my first Tuesday in this place, the unit - they called it a unit, where I actually knew what day it was. I also knew it had to be just about June, but I couldn't remember the date. I had no Masen today, which left a big hole in my afternoon from lunch until my art class at three. Art, I know, but if you were me you'd have picked art too. And I still wasn't on any medication. Most patients got Valium at night and I was fairly sure I wasn't included because I'd begged for it before. I was starting not to mind it though; my nightly visits of all things past had become a comfort to me. But I continued to ask Hatchet for it, just in case.

Rosalie still wasn't back and I was oddly worried about her. I found myself thinking about her and her husband a lot that afternoon. I didn't know anymore than the cut up girl across the hall told me, so I imagined the worst. I pictured the husband searching the shitty neighborhoods and abandoned buildings for his insane wife; did she do drugs, too? Maybe he found her with some other guy, manic enough that she thought this all was just perfect.

I kept my thoughts to myself and picked up her fashion magazine from it's spot on the floor; it reminded me of road kill. I noticed it was four months old and wondered how long she'd been here. I also wondered how much longer her husband would wait for her, and if he still visited her all the time, begging her to please just get well, crying that he missed her and that he couldn't live his life if she wasn't in it.

Hatchet's voice startled me, "you have visitors." She waited as my expression went from surprised to cautious before she walked out. I followed her to what reminded me of a prison visitors area, circular tables with benches bolted to the floor – gray. Lots of windows though. I wasn't sure who I was expecting to see there, my father I suppose even though Hatchet said "visitors" and not "visitor."

My breath caught in my throat.

Alice and Jasper.

They stood up together and looked at me with that particular expression people got in situations like this, nervous, worried, cautious, all rolled up and covered with a façade of composure. "Hi, Bella," they said at the same time.

And that's what did it for me; the last time someone called me Bella was That Day. I hadn't realized how much I missed it. I fell onto the bench and sobbed and I'm sure it scared them, but maybe there was a little compassion in their expression that I hadn't seen. I felt arms come around me and I leaned into Jasper's chest, his look and feel reminding me so much of his brother. I sniffled and he let my tears wet the front of his shirt and they both just stayed quiet and let me get it out. "Jasper," I sounded weak and pathetic, but I didn't care. "I'm sorry." My apology didn't make much sense to me though I had said this to him many times in the last few weeks – I was sorry for what? That his brother was dead? That, in a way, I had helped to kill him? Or that I wasn't strong enough to have died with him?

I felt Jasper's hand in my hair and I imagined it was _his_ hand.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I felt a much smaller palm rubbing my back. I sniffled again and sat up straight.

I didn't know what to say. "I thought…I didn't think you guys knew I was here." One of them produced a tissue so I took it and wiped my eyes.

Alice smiled slowly; I had missed her so much. She had become my touchstone in California, my lifeline to a much more normal life where love meant more than pacts and fate and believing that things would be better "if only." She cleared her throat; I had never seen her nervous before. "Your father…your father told us you were here."

"Why didn't he come to see me?" I sounded a little indignant and I could tell by Alice's face that the comment came out harsher than intended, but I couldn't bring myself to feel bad.

"He wants to visit, it's just -,"

"Let me guess, too busy at work? Or maybe he couldn't miss the big game? What's the excuse of the hour?"

"Bella," Jasper chided. "It's not like that. Charlie's just having a hard time with this, he wants to see you, he just…doesn't know what to say."

I scoffed, "what else is new?"

Alice looked over my head at Jasper and sighed. "Bella, your father has taken a leave of absence from work; he's staying here, with us."

My resentment drained and left me colorless. "Oh."

"He'll come and see you soon, ok? He's doing the best he can."

I let that hover between us for a minute, giving my father a moment of silence.

After a minute, Alice piped up, "I brought you a present!" She smiled and reached way under the table, pulling out a big messily wrapped gift bag. "Sorry about the wrapping, they opened it up when we got here. I didn't know…" She handed it to me.

"Thanks," I peeked inside, but didn't pull anything out.

They updated me on the various goings on of their life in Los Angeles. They closed escrow on their new beachside home and were now in the process of packing their things up. Alice was promoted from assistant to associate professor in the theatre department at UCLA. Things seemed to be going perfectly everywhere they turned and I tried my best to act happy for them. We all said goodbye a little more warmly than we said hello and when they left, Jasper slipped his arm around Alice's waist.

My color was green.

When I got back to my room, Rosalie was there reading her magazine again as if all was right with the world. She looked up at me. "Were you going through my things?"

I sat the gift bag on my bed. "What?"

She separated her words out this time. "Were. You. Going. Through. My. Things?"

"No." She made me nervous.

She gave me a suspicious grunt, but didn't make any sort of move. I sat on my bed and looked in the bag. I pulled out some teal colored tissue paper and saw that it was actually a grab bag of sorts. There was my favorite soap and shampoo, some lotion that smelled like some kind of flower, a loofah, a journal, three different magazines, and heaven of heavens – books. One was a Jane Austen anthology that I hugged to my chest as I went through the rest, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, and Great Expectations. At the very bottom, tucked underneath the books, was a picture. It was of the three of us, Alice in the middle, from a long weekend we spent in San Francisco for my nineteenth birthday. We were bundled up on the boat to Alcatraz; my chin was raised slightly and the wind whipped my hair back off my face. There was so much fog in the background you could barely see anything behind us. Jasper had a piece of candy bar sticking out between his teeth like a cigar; we all had big, goofy grins on our faces as we squeezed in close. _He_ had taken the picture. My eyes watered as I turned it over – _Bella's birthday, the gang freezing our asses off on the way to "the rock." _

I wiped my tears away and set the picture on the nightstand, leaning it on the wall so it stood up. I looked at the magazine titles and then stood up with my peace offering. "Rosalie," I sounded mouse-like. "You can have these." She looked at my face and then down to my hands; she hid it quickly, but I saw her eyes brighten. She snatched them from my hands and I went back to my side of the small room. I stuck the pretty colored tissue paper inside the bag and then folded it up and put it under my bed. I got comfortable and opened up Great Expectations.

"Thanks."

By the time I looked up, Rosalie had her nose buried in a magazine; I thought maybe I had hallucinated.

Rationally, I knew it was in my mind, that it was my memories of him, but at night it didn't matter. I still let them come.

I was walking home from my part-time retail job downtown when I met him. I had just gotten my first paycheck and was in a rarely happy mood. I loved working downtown, even with the tedium of retail; it was a beautiful store in a beautiful part of the city and my register was near a big bay window. When it wasn't busy I liked to watch the people walking by, taking pictures, going on dates. Anyway, I was thinking about all of this when I took a step off the curb without looking first.

I felt a quick and firm tug on the back of my sweater and my arms shot out in front of me. His voice was sharp, "Hey!" I tripped on the curb backing up and he caught me. The car that would have hit me flew by. I spun around and he furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you ok? You should really watch where you're going." He wore a white nametag with black lettering.

"Thanks…James."

He raised his hand up, self consciously running his thumb across the letters like they were Braille. "Well, since I rescued you, does that mean I take care of you now?" His eyes looked right into mine; the intensity was startling.

"I…" I didn't know what to say.

He smiled and it lit up his face; he had a dimple on his right cheek. "Well, in lieu of that, how about a cup of coffee?"

"Sure."

He touched the small of my back as we walked. My smile grew; this was something new. I pushed the feeling around in my head on the way, feeling it's warm, smooth sides; I named it hope.


	5. Four: Factoid Girl

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading. This is probably the last foundational chapter before things get moving, thanks for sticking with me. Also, I'm making a playlist for this story that I'll put on my homepage (which you can get to from my profile) in the next day or two. I almost forgot, there's a new picture for this story on my profile directly related to this chapter.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

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Four: Factoid Girl

I'm not sure why I hadn't noticed it before, the tie-dropping thing I did every evening when I got home. I walked inside, loosened my tie, took it off and let it fall to the floor, and then backed up and picked it up to put it in the bedroom – I did this every night without variance. Actually, it didn't even matter what time of day it was; it was the same pattern. I briefly diagnosed myself with OCD, jotting it down on a receipt for the lunch that was sitting uneaten on my desk, before scratching it out to replace it with the phrase "Medical Student's Disease." Satisfied that I was completely wasting my time, I crumbled it up and threw it in the trash can under my desk.

What I should have been doing was swallowing my lunch whole while reading over my notes for my next appointment. I couldn't even remember who it was which I know makes me sound like a bad doctor and while sometimes I wonder that same thing, truthfully I know that I'm actually quite good. You know the feeling you get when you're working on something and it comes out exactly the way you wanted it to? I feel that way with patients. I opened up the little white paper bag and pulled out a sandwich.

I fiddled with unwrapping the plastic from it while I looked down at the file on my desk – Isabella Swan. This would be our third session and so far, she'd been difficult to read. She doesn't talk about herself and the only way I've found to make her speak at all is to simply wait her out. However, I prided myself on not only being able to correctly diagnose a patient on the first try, but to do it in a timely manner. So today, Isabella would have to talk about something other than hospital regulations and dead celebrities.

I heard the knock on my door before I was able to take even a single bite of my lunch; it would have been the first thing I'd eaten since the day before at the same time. "Come in." I cleared some writing space on my desk, but didn't have time to move the food before she came inside. She eyed it and sat on the chair, pulling her knees up in a protective manner which was habit for her.

"Lunch?"

I had the good grace to blush; having food splayed out over a patient's file was highly unprofessional. "Yes, sorry," I opened the bag to stuff the sandwich back inside.

"I don't mind." She rested her chin on one knee. "Actually, I'd prefer it if you ate."

I grabbed at the opening. "Oh?"

"Yeah, it makes you look…I don't know."

I wasn't letting her off the hook that easily. "It makes me look what?"

She shrugged. "More normal, I guess."

"How so?"

She gave me a look like she knew what I was doing and that if she talked, it would be on her terms. "It makes you seem less distant; can we talk about something else now? And eat, please." She sighed, "it makes me less uncomfortable."

I finished opening up my food and took a small bite, making sure to keep it away from the papers littering my desk. After I finished chewing I asked, "what would you like to talk about?"

She paused, "wolf hierarchy."

I swallowed another bite. "Wolf hierarchy?"

"Yeah, did you know that it's actually very rigid? The one at the bottom of the ladder is called the Omega. She usually gets beaten up a lot and will sometimes leave the pack entirely, but strangely enough, she's also in charge of when it's time to play."

I listened to her speak and jotted a quick note down on my pad of paper – _referred to the wolf at the bottom of a pack's hierarchy as "she." _"How do you know that?"

"I told you, I read a lot."

"What else do you like to do?"

She stiffened infinitesimally and drew out her answer, "…nothing."

I swallowed a bite and took a drink from my water bottle. "I believe you also mentioned something about swimming before."

Her discomfort became more pronounced. "I don't remember telling you that."

"You did," I tried not to directly remind her of her first day in the hospital. "Was I mistaken?"

She relaxed her shoulders, but her expression was guarded, "no, I like to."

"So," I said between bites, thankful that she didn't mind the eating. I made a quick note – _the eating relaxes her (?) – _before continuing. "Are you an ocean swimmer or a pool swimmer?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully and it gave me hope that we were finally getting somewhere. "Neither, well no, I guess both if I have to be." She looked suddenly nervous, like she'd given something away.

"Where do you swim then?" I asked the obvious question.

The grip she had around her knees tightened; I wasn't sure how, but I'd hit a nerve. She looked at her feet and didn't answer. When she finally did, it reminded me of her first day here. "Our place." When she looked up at me there was a new look in her eyes. "Go ahead and ask."

I put my food down on the bag. "What's 'our place'?"

"I found it after Char-, my father and I moved to California. It's my favorite place."

"Tell me about it."

Despite her initial reluctance, the topic engaged her and she used her hands to describe the scenery. "It's outside the city, the first time I found it I was walking through the woods. You feel like you've been walking for a long time, like maybe you've gotten lost or something and then there it is, right in front of you. There's a drop off maybe ten or fifteen feet above the water, the only way to get down is to jump. The trees and bushes grow right up and over the sides, you can't even see the water until you're about to fall into it."

I made a note – _refers to herself in the second person when recalling a place that's important to her (read: swimming hole). _"What were you doing out there when you found it the first time?"

"Just walking." There was an edge of defensiveness in her tone.

"Were you alone?"

"Yeah."

"Did you typically have the place to yourself?"

"Yeah."

I wondered how far outside Sonoma one would have to walk in order to find a secluded swimming hole.

"What else can you tell me about it?"

I watched as she worried her bottom lip. "Nothing much, it's just someplace I liked to go; it was quiet. It's nice to get away sometimes, you know?"

I repressed a comment about how I actually wouldn't know and continued my questioning. "When did you like to go?"

"Early evening, before it got dark, it made me feel like I was the only person in the world."

"And you like that feeling?"

"Sometimes."

Now that I'd gotten to the point where she was actually answering my questions, I asked the one I really wanted the answer to. "Why did you call it 'our place'?"

She looked at me like she knew it was coming, another note – _smart girl_. "Because it was."

"By 'our' do you mean you and James Whitlock?"

Her voice was sharp. "Don't say his name." She stood up. "I think we're done here."

I checked my watch; she was right. As a matter of fact, we had gone over our time by a few minutes. "You're right; our time is up for today. But this is something I will pursue with you in the future, Isabella."

"Bella."

"Excuse me?"

"I prefer Bella."

"Ok then, Bella; I will see you on Friday." I watched her walk out stiffly, her mouth set in defiance.

We were finally getting somewhere.

Late that afternoon, Carlisle was in my office, going over patient files. He sat in the chair, his back ruler straight; he never seemed to tire. "How are things going with Isabella Swan?"

"Bella," I corrected automatically. "She prefers it. Things are…slow right now. She's dead set against help."

Carlisle made a sound in his throat and nodded; the attitude wasn't uncommon.

Something had been bothering me, so I took this moment as an opportunity. "May I ask why you're so attached to the Swan case?"

He looked suddenly worn. "Did you know her father was the chief of police in Washington before they moved to Sonoma? And his father before that." He paused, "Charlie Swan and I went to school together, twelve years."

That surprised me; I knew Carlisle was from Washington, but he had always struck me as more the Seattle type.

"Did you keep in contact much?"

"Off and on, as much as either of us was ever able, I knew about Charlie's wife and the move, but not much else." He sighed again, "I've never seen him like this before." He put his hands on his knees and pushed up and off the chair. "Just…take care of her."

Once he was gone, I pulled her file and read through it again. Bella had had a hard time of it once her mother died. Her father must have thought the move would've been good for her, but the uprooting made it worse on both of them. She didn't enter counseling until after her suicide attempt and by then she was so far gone, it would have taken something much more intensive than weekly therapy. Her first diagnosis was Borderline Personality Disorder - ridiculous. Aside from the general dark mood, she showed no real traits to warrant it. Next therapist said Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which seemed to be closer to the truth. But both were still too complicated. There was something else going on, something basic, something that had been there from the start.

I could see the sadness in the way she held herself, in her eyes. Yet she was stronger than people gave her credit for, to be able to hold on to everything the way she had. But she was tiring and it stirred something in me.

_I just want to help her._


	6. Five: Charlie

Author's Note: A round of gratefulness as always. So, there's a playlist on my homepage (you can get there from my profile) for this story that goes through the last chapter (it would have gone through this chapter, but the song I wanted I couldn't find so I need to find another one which, knowing me, could take forever). Also, the next chapter of Life and Times should be up tomorrow if you're also reading that one.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

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Five: Charlie

I had been in this sunny psychopathic retreat for twenty one days and counting. Sometime during my stay, it had become June although I couldn't say exactly when. I had been keeping track of time in the journal Alice gave me; I made a grid of boxes with the words Time Served across the top and through questioning Dr. Masen and Hatchet, I'd figured out my length of stay. Inside this particular day's box, I wrote the words – _twenty one days, June 10__th__ I think. My color today is gray-blue. _I knew it was Wednesday at least. A Masen day. I thought I could like him, but the last few sessions had been particularly intrusive and he just wouldn't let up. I understood that was the point, but it didn't make me hate it any less. He wanted to know about my mom, what she was like, her hobbies, likes, dislikes, her behavior near the end of her life. She was gone; I didn't want to talk about it. I knew he was trying to find my diagnosis; I could practically feel his hands probing, searching for weak points. I'm sure I wasn't giving him much to go on.

I closed my journal as Rosalie walked in; she had decided to like me, by the way. She sat down on her bed with a little bounce, seemed to be a good day. As a matter of fact, most days with her seemed to be good days lately. Dr. Masen's bipolar diagnosis led to medication that was slowly evening her out. From the way she talked, she was taking her therapy more seriously too, which was more than I could say for myself admittedly. "Has your friend come to visit you again?"

I knew the real question was whether or not I had the newest issues of any magazines. "Yeah, but she didn't bring anything." Her expression was a little pouty. Alice's second visit was the day prior and had gone much more smoothly that the first. She chatted about their move into the new house and how she had her eye on a new puppy. She showed me a picture the breeder had sent her. "Wow, how big is that gonna get?"

She smiled, "about a hundred fifty'ish, maybe more."

"Alice, that thing will be almost twice your size!" I looked at the picture again. "I always pegged you as one of those people with pets that fit in your purse."

She scoffed, "those aren't real dogs."

Rosalie cleared her throat, "lunch?"

Walking down the wide halls with the nurses for lunch reminded me of being herded. We were about halfway there when I heard Esme's voice.

"Bella," her voice was as warm as ever, but was laced with what might have been nervousness. I stepped away from Rosalie, who didn't seem to care, and made my way over to Esme. "You have a visitor today." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. I didn't ask her who it was; the fake smile was a dead giveaway. I let her lead me to him.

Charlie stood up when he saw me and if he hadn't, I may not have recognized him. His normally short hair was in dire need of a trim, it curled at the ends around his ears and at the nape of his neck. But his clothes looked clean and freshly pressed; I made a mental note to thank Alice. That's not what I noticed first though.

He had aged and weathered, like driftwood left to dry out and hollow on the sand; he looked paler despite the abundance of sun, and the lines in his face were more deeply etched, a permanent record of my time with him.

And his eyes had lost their light. I felt like my being in here had taken the soul right out of him.

He was holding a tattered book in his hand which he set down on his seat when I walked over. Neither of us knew what to do. "Hey, kiddo," he lifted half his mouth in a smile as if it took everything he had to make the gesture.

I sat down. "Hey, dad."

He picked up the book, "I brought you this."

I recognized it as my old copy of Wuthering Heights; I didn't have the heart to tell him about Alice's gift. I held it between my hands, "thanks." My voice sounded thick.

"That's one of your favorites, isn't it?"

I attempted a smile, "yeah, it is."

He rested his elbows on the table and didn't say anything, but I could feel him regarding me. "How are they treating you in here?"

"It's ok, everyone's nice to me." I couldn't bear to tell him about the pills and the needles and how sometimes Rosalie would cry at night about someone named Sarah, or how two nights ago the girl across the hall killed herself and I wasn't even that sad about it because it happens. Again and again and again.

"I wanted to come sooner, but…," he trailed off. "Dr. Cullen has been keeping me posted." He looked somewhat pleased.

"Dr. Cullen?" I felt a prickle of something up my spine. "Why would he do that?"

"He and I came up together in Washington." I could see his expression, already tense, changing into that guarded look he used to get when he thought I was getting angry. It irritated me, that 'here she goes again' thing he did. "He's just letting me know how you're doing."

"So…what? So you don't have to see for yourself?"

"It's not like that. It's just…," he trailed off. "I hate seeing you like this, this isn't easy for me."

I stood up roughly and leaned forward, "This hasn't been easy for _you_?" My voice was incredulous. "Let me make it easy for you then, you're absolved. Go back home; I'm off your hands." His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. I inhaled sharply and looked toward an orderly who hadn't seemed to notice.

"Bella, will you sit down, you know that's not what I meant."

I sat, more out of surprise than anything else.

"I know I should have come sooner."

My eyes started to water and I lost all the self righteous anger I'd been filling myself with; I exhaled. "I haven't seen you at all since…," That Day. He hadn't come to see me in the hospital after he pried me away from James in the vineyard; he wasn't the one that took me to Los Angeles. He'd been the man behind the curtain handing down my sentence.

He let go of my wrist. "I know."

We sat in silence which was what we did best anyway. I stared at his hands; they were dry and gray looking and it looked like he'd been biting the nails on his right thumb and forefinger. "You shouldn't do that."

"Do what?"

"Bite your nails."

He smiled with very little actual humor and looked at his hands, "your mom used to say that too. I actually stopped for a long time." He curled his fingers into his palms so I couldn't see the ends anymore, an old self conscious gesture. He looked down at the table, he had learned years ago not to mention Renee. I felt the guilt of my rule the way he felt the guilt of breaking it. "I read it, your book I mean," he nodded toward my tattered paperback.

"You did?" My disbelieving expression was genuine.

"Yeah, I thought…it'd give us something to talk about." He smiled part way.

I felt my heart growing and filling an open space inside my chest and I was about to say something that probably wouldn't convey in the least the amount of gratitude I felt, when someone touched my shoulder. I looked up and it was Hatchet. I hated her, I wanted to push her away and tell her I was busy. I wanted to hug her for helping me keep my parts intact. "Your appointment with Dr. Masen is in five minutes." She took a step back far enough to give us a semblance of privacy.

I couldn't seem to force my eyes to meet Charlie's, so instead I looked at his hands again. "I've got to go." I started to stand, unwilling to prolong the goodbye.

Charlie followed, "alright kiddo."

When there was no longer a table between us, I didn't know what to do. Custom said to hug him, but our traditions lacked most forms of affection. We settled with an awkward half hug; he patted my back.

I didn't have time to take my book back to my room, so I had to take it with me. I held it with both hands on my lap and watched Dr. Masen pull a small white bag out of some compartment in his desk. He had taken to regularly eating lunch during our appointments. Everyday he had a turkey sandwich on wheat with a pickle and a bottle of water. I heard a small sound that reminded me of something I couldn't quite place; it was like a light suction sound. It reminded me that I hadn't eaten since dinner the day before.

I stared at the condensation gathering on his water bottle. "Do you have a fridge in your desk?"

He grinned like he'd been caught. "I have a fridge _under_ my desk; I just put it in yesterday." He unwrapped his sandwich slowly, I had a feeling he still felt weird about eating in front of me.

"And they're ok with that?"

"Who is 'they'?"

"I don't know…big brother?"

He shrugged, "it's fine." My stomach growled and his gaze darted from my midsection to my face. "Didn't you eat lunch?"

I didn't want to get into any specifics about my dad visiting, but there was something about being in this office – despite the constant scrutiny, that felt like a sanctuary. I still didn't really want to tell him though. "No, I skipped it."

He set his food down. "How come?"

I raised one shoulder and then let it drop. "Busy."

"With what?"

"You do that a lot."

"Do what?"

I put my feet up on the chair and circled my arms around my legs. "The two-word-question thing to get me to talk."

"Do I?"

I snorted, "now you're just doing it on purpose."

"Think so?" He smiled crookedly. "I'll stop if you answer a question," he paused so I nodded, "why did you skip lunch?"

I set myself up to not answer; I put my chin on my knee and looked at the floor, mouth set. I could see the tips of his shoes underneath his desk. I kept my eyes fastened there as he shuffled with something on his desk, when I looked up he was handing me half of his sandwich. It tasted good; the bread was fresh and soft, thicker than I thought. "My dad came to see me," I said when I was finished chewing. He didn't say anything; he knew how much it bothered me. "It was fine, I'm fine." I took another bite.

"Did he bring you that book?" He had finished his half of the sandwich already and I wondered if he was still hungry.

"Mm-hm," I said around my mouthful. "He said Dr. Cullen was keeping him posted. Did you know they knew each other?"

"I was told as much. Does it bother you?"

"I guess not." I finished my last bite.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, "you're going to have to talk to me eventually, Bella."

"What if I don't?"

"Then I won't be able to work with you anymore. They'll assign you to a different resident until they find a good match."

Something about what he said scared me; I didn't want to talk to another doctor. I didn't want him to give up on me too. Maybe it was the prospect of having to start all over, of having another pair of eyes going through my file, cutting me open from the comfort of their expensive office chair. "I hadn't seen Charlie since…since before I came here."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I think…I know, I mean, that he's having a hard time with everything." I didn't know what I was doing, but now I don't think I could've shut myself up if I tried. And that's the thing – I _wasn't_ trying.

I talked about Charlie for the entire hour. What happened after my mother died, what he did with me, why we moved to Sonoma. I couldn't stop and he knew it and I saw something about his eyes change while I talked; it was like a light came on. He could tell the same way that I could that the mortar holding my wall together was crumbling; the bricks were loosening in their spaces. Dr. Masen was getting through.

That night, in what was supposed to be the quiet of my room, Rosalie wanted to talk.

"You looked different this afternoon," she said, in a voice just above a whisper.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, happy or something." I could hear her change positions. "I'm getting out soon, Dr. Cullen told me today."

I wanted to say something about being happy for her, but the words wouldn't come. "Do you know when?"

"A few weeks, I think. They got my dosage right, finally."

I felt an odd sense of gladness for her mixed with a disappointment and panic that she would be leaving; she was my thick skin.

Later on I was dreaming and I knew this as fact, but didn't care. He was there with me; it was the last time I was really happy.

"Where are we going?" It was early evening and he could barely see; I led him deftly between the trees. I could find it with my eyes closed.

"My place." Before long, the space opened up, the drop-off a yard or so ahead. The aquamarine water was a perfect reflection of the night around it. The moon shone off it like a light. He stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist; I shivered at the touch.

"How did you find this?"

"Just came across it one day," I leaned into his chest and he kissed the top of my head. "Doesn't it feel like no one else exists?"

"No one else does." He let go of me and moved to the edge of the cliff. "How do you get down?"

I kicked off my shoes and slipped out of my jeans while his back was turned. "Like this." He turned and watched me appreciatively as I made my way to my favorite spot. I took one deep breath, not because of nerves, but just in case it was my last one; I felt like I was always saying goodbye. I jumped. That was the best part, the falling without control; hitting the water was like breaking glass.

It brought me back to life.


	7. Six: Today Was Not a Good Day

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone reading and for those of you reviewing an extra bit of thanks, some of the things written are so thoughtful; it means a lot to me. So, this chapter switches points of views; I've indicated it with a break in the page.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

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Six: Today Was Not a Good Day

I wrote in the little box in my journal for the day – _26__th__ day, June 15__th__ by last count, Masen day, not so bad. _It was strange and distracting, the knowledge that I was settling into a rhythm here when I knew I shouldn't belong. I'd somewhat proudly never fit in anywhere and it had to be here, the asylum? that I finally felt a sense of belonging. Maybe it was because I was learning it, how to live here. Hatchet was the tough as nails nurse, you couldn't mess with her too much; Esme was the gentle one, but also in charge. Rosalie had become protective so everyone left me alone when I had to leave the room. Dr. Cullen was the Wizard of Oz, supposedly in charge of my care, whatever that meant. I learned not to make any friends, except Rosalie, but I wasn't sure what to call our relationship.

Don't make a scene, do what you're told, keep to yourself, and don't paint sarcastic phrases during art class.

I left out Dr. Masen, but I wasn't really sure where to put him. He wasn't absent like Dr. Cullen or tough like Hatchet or even gentle like Esme; I didn't know what he was. He was smart and he could throw around pointless trivia like I did. He seemed to have risen fast career-wise; I'd pin his age somewhere close to thirty. But there was something else there too, a sadness or a listlessness or something. I couldn't pick a color for him.

Today I was a light butter cream yellow and my reason may have seemed counter-intuitive, but it was because it was raining. I was so excited for the stupid change in weather that I sat out in the dayroom under the big window all morning. The rain reminded me that things were mutable and didn't always stand still; it reminded me of Washington and my mother and how she owned a bright, sunshine yellow umbrella. She had one for every mood and I would remember sitting on the bed as a child while she got ready in the morning.

She would always look at herself in the full length mirror hanging on the closet door. "Bella, I think today is a pink umbrella day."

I ran out to the entryway and grabbed it out of the big holder she found at a French antique store in Texas years before. I gave it to her and she opened it up and held it behind her, framed herself in light pink. "Mom," I complained, "you're not supposed to open it inside, that's bad luck!"

She clucked her tongue at me, "don't be silly."

"Isabella," Hatchet refused to call me Bella and she made me too nervous to correct her. She didn't have to say anything else; I knew it was time for my appointment with Dr. Masen. I followed her to the elevator and then down the hallways I'd memorized by now, but when we got to the usual door Hatchet breezed right past it. My question stuck in my throat as she stopped four doors away.

Dr. Masen had decided we weren't a good fit after all; he had transferred me to another shrink. I had taken too long to open up and he'd lost patience with me and now I wish I could take all the time back. I didn't want someone else; I wanted Dr. Masen. He was different and funny and the first person who'd ever gotten me to talk; he shared his lunch with me.

He left me.

"You'll be with Dr. Cullen today," she knocked sharply on his door while I tried to breathe through the panic cutting off my air supply. _In_. Was I so bad that they were sending me to the man in charge? She opened the door and I shuffled in, eyes to the floor, heart racing. _Out_. The door closing behind me sounded ominous.

"Miss Swan, come in and have a seat." His voice betrayed none of the judgment he must have been feeling. _In_. I was the bad seed, the one that didn't speak soon enough or say the right things or smile at the right moments. Dr. Masen was right to give up on me; I'd done it years ago. _Out_. I sat down and wrung my hands in my lap. "I'm sure you're wondering why you're with me today." _In_. He smiled kindly as my pulse throbbed. "Dr. Masen is out sick, so I'm working with his patients today. He may be back on Wednesday, but we aren't sure yet."

"Oh."

The relief I felt was almost frightening in how consuming it was and I took it all in like that first drink of water on a hot afternoon.

_Out sick._

I let out a pent up breath. I inhaled deeply and tried not to show it, but I was so happy I was still with Dr. Masen that I was ready to confess every feeling I'd ever had.

My curiosity got the better of me and I asked, "what's the matter with him?"

"Just a cold, but we thought it better that he stay home. We didn't want anyone catching it."

I wondered who he meant by "we."

My appointment with Dr. Cullen was different from my usual Masen days. It was shorter and he mostly asked how things were going presently, rather than delving into my past. I was grateful, but as the session wore on, my mood soured. My three times a week with Dr. Masen had become strange bright spots in my week; I was accustomed to the purging now and even if I barely said anything, his office was my safe place and I wanted it back. I wanted the uncomfortable chair and the sound of crinkling paper from a sack lunch, the condensation on the water bottle that during our last session made a water ring on his desk that would probably never come out. I didn't like Dr. Cullen and his flawlessly kept appearance, his perfectly organized desk, and too straight posture. I wanted my normal doctor with his slept-in looks and rolled up shirt sleeves. I wanted to tell him about my mom and all of her umbrellas. When the nurse came to get me it wasn't soon enough.

* * *

I'm never sick. Ever.

I can't even remember the last time I was sick in any capacity whatsoever. It was just one of those things on my list of things that don't happen to me. It was my own fault, really. I saw the girl who prepared my food behind the counter while I waited under the too bright fluorescents; she sniffled. And now I was sick and Carlisle forbade me from coming in. What was it that I was supposed to do? Wallow? I got up at the same time as always and went down to the gym as always and though it wore me out more than usual, I stuck to my routine. By eight o'clock I was showered and dressed with nowhere to go but my couch. I couldn't bear to watch daytime television, so instead I walked down to the corner for a newspaper; I ended up with three different ones.

By one o'clock, the papers were scattered over the coffee table and I couldn't focus. At that moment, Bella would be learning that I was out for the day. I wondered what she might be thinking. That I had abandoned her? It was difficult enough for me to get her to speak at all; I didn't want to think about what kind of setback my being sick had caused. I didn't want Carlisle working with her, as good a doctor as he was, I didn't think he was right for her. His methods were so exact, he would seem too typical and she'd never open up to him. It was a miracle she let _me_ in.

And even so, I didn't think I was really helping her. I didn't have that feeling I usually got right away, when I knew I was on the right track. I still didn't have a diagnosis, though it was clear there was some chronic depression, and she was still fighting me, despite the better communication. She was different and difficult and frustrating, but I didn't want anyone else to counsel her.

By the late afternoon, I was in my car. I was hoping to avoid seeing Carlisle, but he spotted me as soon as I unlocked my office door.

"I thought I told you to take a couple of days off?" He asked it good naturedly; I think he knew I could no more stay away from my office than I could cut off my left arm. What good was I otherwise?

"I don't feel that bad; I just have some paperwork to do." I had taken enough medication that I didn't feel sick at all.

"I'd like to speak with you actually, if you have a few minutes." He was making his way over regardless of my answer.

I let him inside and took my seat behind the desk; it didn't exactly feel like home, but it was familiar to me, comfortable. "How can I help you?"

"I had a couple of questions about Isabella," he paused, "Bella Swan."

I was pleased he'd remembered the name she preferred to be called. I nodded for him to continue.

"I read through her file today and noticed that you still aren't on track for a diagnosis, is there something wrong?" His concern was genuine, but also, he needed something to tell her father. We both knew very well that it was a blatant privacy violation, with potentially serious repercussions, but Bella's case had been a strange exception to the rules from the beginning.

"No, nothing's wrong; Bella is just…slow to warm up. She's getting there, it's just taking time."

"And you don't think it's PTSD?"

"It's possible, but I don't think that's it. I'm fairly certain chronic depression runs in her family though."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Alright." He accepted my answer easily.

He left after I promised to stay home until Wednesday, once he was gone I gathered up some papers to keep myself occupied and then made my way across the mezzanine level that separated the patients from the administration. I needed to speak with Esme about a dosage change for one of my Borderline patients, and I wasn't ready to go back my apartment purgatory. She was at the nurse's station across from the dayroom, entering something into a computer. We made the usual pleasantries before I told her what I needed to; we were friendly enough with each other, but never particularly close and so my whole trip down there took less than ten minutes.

When I turned around to leave, I felt eyes on me. It wasn't unusual; I treated any number of people currently in the dayroom so I ignored the feeling. I took a few steps away before curiosity got the better of me and I turned around; I didn't see anyone obviously looking at me right away and thought I was imagining things. I let my gaze wander deeper into the room until it met with a pair of dark brown eyes. Bella Swan was sitting in an old armchair against the window, legs tucked underneath her, a huge book on her lap. The rain slid down the glass behind her in thin rivulets. She was staring at me, her expression one I couldn't place which bothered me. Not angry or curious or guarded, but something else.

_Bella._

It was like there was nothing else.

I took in a deep breath to clear my head and walked away.


	8. Seven: Identify the Feeling

Author's Note: Don't quote me, but I think I can go back to regular Thursday updates (for those of you that didn't see it on my Life and Times note, I've been on vacation, hence the lack of activity). Anyway, thank you so much for reading, every one of you brighten my day.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Seven: Identify the Feeling

Something was off today. It was the same feeling you get when you wake up late and it throws your whole day off kilter, but I wasn't late today. In fact, I was early. I couldn't remember the last time I was early to work period. I typically avoided all chances for morning conversation and went straight into appointments. So I sat in my office, waiting for the next patient, my leg bouncing under the desk. I went through files until I couldn't concentrate; the letters kept rearranging themselves into words and names I didn't want to see. I pulled out a legal pad and wrote the words – _Identify the feeling_. I knew this was pointless, to analyze myself, but I wrote anyway. _Anxious. _I knew I had to expand it because there were two types of 'anxious' – positive and negative. Positive, as in, general excitement for something and negative, as in, a vague fear about some impending catastrophe. I paused and wrote again, aware that I was dictating two sides of a conversation.

_Why are you anxious? _

_Because. _

_Because is not an appropriate answer. _

_I'm anxious to get through the next appointments._

_That's not the real reason._

_I missed being at work._

_Is that true?_

_No._

_But you did miss something._

_I missed_

There was a small, quick knock on the door indicating the next patient. I called for her to come in and then cleared my desk of everything but her file and my lunch. She came in and I looked her over as I always did, making mental notes about her appearance – looks less tired today, and happy? It didn't mesh with the picture I had of her in my mind; something was off, but not necessarily in a negative way, just…in a way I didn't understand yet. I cleared my throat, "how are you today, Bella?"

She sat down and didn't pull her knees up as she usually did; it spoke volumes about letting her defenses down. She had relaxed once before, the day she spoke about her father, but I was wary that it had just been a fluke – aftereffects of seeing him. I wondered what it was that was making her open up this time. There was a mix of relief and general discomfort in her expression which I wasn't sure what to make of. I was prepared for her to be defiant or even outwardly angry about my absence, but the warmth in her eyes I was not accustomed to. I ripped the written on top sheet off my legal pad and threw it away while I waited for her to say something. "I'm good," she raised her lips briefly in a tight smile. "Are you feeling better?"

I wasn't surprised that she knew I'd been sick, just that she cared enough to inquire about it. "Yes, I'm fine; it was just a cold. How were things with Dr. Cullen on Monday?"

She shrugged, "it was ok."

"Have you eaten lunch?" I couldn't say what prompted me to ask and I felt immediately unsure, like I was stepping over some line in the sand.

"Chicken soup."

"You had that for lunch?"

She looked at me and raised her eyebrows, "what? No, I meant, chicken soup is good for colds. And vitamin C, plenty of rest, but not too much or you end up feeling groggy."

I smiled at her advice, but didn't say anything.

She played with her hands in her lap. "I just…I mean, you seem like a medication person and this just…works too."

She was right about the medication and I felt myself reaching back, trying to find the place where this stopped being a typical therapy session. "Where did you learn that?" I was hoping to get the topic focused back on her.

"Common sense?" She kept fiddling with her hands. "Yes, I had lunch." She brought one knee up on the chair, wrapped an arm around her leg. "James…he used to take care of me when I was sick, that's how I learned."

"Did he always take care of you?"

She looked down, nodded. I prayed she wouldn't shut down.

"What else did he do for you?" I was completely still, afraid that any noise or movement would make her retreat. I could wait forever if it meant she'd speak to me. And I was curious to know about James, the power he held over her, why she gave herself to him so completely.

Her voice barely came through over the static of my thoughts. "He taught me to drive." She smiled at some private memory.

"Oh?"

I could see her brighten; she wanted to talk. Where had this come from? "He took me way outside the city and let me drive his truck on some dirt roads," her eyes were still trained to the floor when she laughed. "We got stuck in the mud once, way out in the middle of nowhere. I cried and he laughed at me and said it was no big deal." She finally looked up. "We decided to stay out there all night, like camping, but in a truck." She flushed deeply; I tilted my head, but didn't ask her why. "It was the first time…," she blushed again, looking almost surprised to find that she had, in fact, been speaking out loud.

"I see," I made a note and saw her shake her head out of the corner of my eye.

"No," she said with an uncomfortable laugh, "not _that_ first time. Nevermind, it's stupid."

"It's not stupid, did I misunderstand something?" I slipped my glasses off.

She said it fast and quietly, embarrassed, "the first time I saw him without a shirt on."

I forced my expression into passivity, pushing the spark of amusement I felt aside. I thought about it, her divulgence was…endearing, but that sentiment wasn't something I could put in my notes.

"See, it's stupid."

Instead of outright denial, I tried another means, "why do you think it's stupid?"

"I don't know, who keeps track of that, you know? It's just…," she lifted one shoulder slowly and let it drop; she was still blushing. "That's…as far as we ever got."

The admission was so innocent; I couldn't hide my grin for that split second before she raised her face to mine again. She hadn't slept with James, ever. If my information was correct, the two had been a couple for more than three years; by today's standards, abstinence for that long was rare. I debated on whether I should ask why before deciding it wouldn't be entirely appropriate. "If the memory is important to you, it's important. It's not stupid at all." I could tell she didn't believe me, but wasn't going to argue. I was going to ask more about James, but found that I couldn't tell if I was asking because it was important to her recovery or if it was because I was intensely curious.

"You look nothing like him."

I could feel her watching me as I debated my questions and for the first time, I wondered what she saw.

"His hair was longer, and blonde." She paused and I felt something, some mental clarity breaking through that told me to stop this. "Yours is more -,"

I cleared my throat, uncomfortable. "I'm going to have to stop you there; this is getting to be an inappropriate topic." I shifted in my chair.

"Why?"

I took a breath to clear my head. "These sessions are for you, Bella. They're to explore your past and present and figure out what we need to do to help you heal. We need to focus on you." It was right to say; it was best. I watched her digest the information, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Sorry," was all she said.

"It's alright," I paused, "well, it looks like our time is up for today. I will see you on Friday, Bella." I knew I was rushing her out the door.

"Bye, Dr. Masen."

That evening I went through my tie routine, but instead of simply putting it away, I went into the bedroom and changed out of my work clothes entirely. I slipped on an old pair of jersey shorts and a t-shirt, grabbed my running shoes and left. The air in my apartment was too thick; it was on a corner of the building and was hit with sun all day. By the time it cooled down outside, the inside was stifling. I felt trapped.

I ran in the direction of a nearby country club; it had a public trail that went along one side and when I was there I could almost forget the city and the miserable heat that sat over us like a lid. After a while I felt better; running outside suited me and I couldn't remember why I'd stopped doing it, perhaps the convenience of the treadmills in the complex's gym. The air was lighter out here, cooler; I could feel my thoughts sorting themselves out.

And later, re-tangling.

I got to a point on my run where I had to turn around or I'd be running back completely in the dark. I went straight home, bypassing the various food places that would have negated the running altogether. Inside my apartment, I felt everything I'd avoided thinking about come back, the heaviness of it like the heaviness of the heat. I pulled my shirt off and wiped the sweat off my face, opened the refrigerator door and stood in front of it idly. My food selection left much to be desired. I had water bottles and more condiments than things to put them on; I looked at a jar of pickles next to a loaf of bread and thought of Bella. _Ridiculous_. I knew it was, but it didn't stop me. I wondered what she did with her days when left to her own devices, how well she was eating, if the other patients were bothering her, if she was sleeping at night. _I care for her, the same as I care for all my patients_.

I made a sandwich and took it into my room. I was so sick of turkey sandwiches. I turned on my lamp and sat down, leaning against the headrest; I took a bite, swallowed. "Fucking turkey." Somewhere in my mind, I heard it – _Identify the feeling_.

"Fuck off."

_You know this isn't because of what you're eating_.

_Then what is it?_

_You tell me._

_I am you._

_Explain it anyway, it'll help._

_I'm frustrated and worried…I think. _

_Why?_

_Because I don't know what to do._

_About?_

_Crossing a line. _

_You know there are very serious consequences if you do. Not to mention, do you even want to in the first place?_

_I don't know. This all could be nothing, so what if I care more than usual? Carlisle is close to his patients, more so than most._

_She's getting attached to you._

_Not necessarily._

_Yes necessarily, you can see it happening already. Remember the line in the sand?_

I thought about it some more, went back through my sessions with Bella, back to the day I saw her watching me in the dayroom. Back to things that crossed my mind, things I pushed aside, thoughts about how young she was, how she was so much like a child, how broken, and how strong she had to be to keep going. I thought of her intelligence and her quirks and how my anxiousness today had only to do with her.

_What if it's a line that needs to be crossed?_


	9. Eight: Discipline

Author's Note: Note at the bottom. This chapter switches points of view (indicated with a break in the page).

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Eight: Discipline

I wiped my eyes on the long sleeve of my shirt, James' shirt, had my father known he probably wouldn't have packed it for me. It was a thick cream fisherman's sweater, wearing thin at the elbows; it hung down to my thighs. I loved to sleep in it when staying with James became a regular thing; I'd wear it and not much else, but he was careful with me. He looked and he touched, but never more than what I was ready for. I could still feel his hands on my legs; it brought on a new round of tears.

_I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_.

I was betraying him, every time I talked about him; every time I wondered why when Dr. Masen looked at me it felt like a touch, I was betraying his memory.

I had to remember, it was all I had.

James didn't have a television; he found it to be intellectually stunting. Actually, he didn't have a lot of things. I did his grocery shopping after I discovered he would go for weeks at a time with nothing but peanut butter; I remembered pinching his side, "that's why you're so skinny."

He grinned, "I prefer the term streamlined."

The way he lived fascinated me. It was like he didn't occupy the world as everyone else did and other than his job he kept his contact with people to a minimum. And he wrote furiously, going for hours at a time without realizing I was two rooms away. I liked it, our bohemian existence made me feel unique and unusual when I had always believed I was destined for heartbreaking predictability.

He came out of his makeshift office one night particularly spent. It was raining outside, the fire in the hearth was strong, and I made a wish that it could always be like this. He kneeled on the couch next to my feet; his breathing was heavy, like he'd been running. He grinned, "it's amazing how someone so small can take up so much space." I replied by stretching further out on the couch. He grabbed me around the ankle and kissed the inside of it, working his way up to my knee. The way he moved up my body was predatory; it made me nervous, but not entirely in a bad way. "I love it when you wear this," his sweater, my sweater. He rested his chin on my stomach and stared up at me.

"Tired?" I asked.

"Drained. I want to talk to you about something; it's something I've been writing about."

"What's that?"

He moved up, high enough that when he put his head down it rested over my heart. "What do you think happens to us when we die?"

"What's wrong with you?" It was Rosalie's voice.

That's right, I was still alive. "Nothing."

"I'm leaving today, not dying."

I huffed a laugh; she thought I was crying because she was getting out.

Hatchet poked her head in, "checks. Time for your appointment, Isabella."

Rosalie told me she wasn't leaving for a few hours, that she wanted to say goodbye before she did.

I followed Hatchet and knocked when we got to Dr. Masen's door, although it felt strange to do so now. I wiped my eyes a final time before I opened the door.

He noticed right away. "Have you been crying?" He was worried, a crease forming between his eyebrows; he looked like he was about to stand up. It made me feel strange, like I couldn't focus.

"I'm alright."

The tone of his voice changed, from smooth to a low purr; he could charm snakes with that voice. "I'm here for you, Bella."

I didn't know what to do with my hands. "It's nothing, really."

One side of his mouth lifted in a smile, "Ok."

He let it go because he wanted to talk about my mother; I told him about all her umbrellas. I even told him about the end, when she stopped caring about color or time or the basic things, like eating, and sleeping during the night. I told him about the last night, when I caught her staring out the window in the front door at two in the morning. "Just thinking," she'd said. I led her back up to bed; Charlie was away overnight, some new fishing spot too far to drive home from the same day. I put the blankets over her, she was always cold now; I kissed her forehead like she was a child. "You're so good to me, Bella."

I told her I'd check on her in the morning.

* * *

She had been crying and I wanted to know why, who had made her cry. I wanted to sit closer; I wanted to protect her. I never wanted her to be sad again. I held it all back, for her sake.

I wanted to touch her.

I didn't bring my lunch that day, a fact that bothered her more than I thought it would. It wasn't that my not eating made her uncomfortable, like those first days; it was more that she was concerned about my health. As is the rule, I moved the topic off me and onto her. She opened up about her mother and I was proud of her, listening with rapt attention to every detail she was willing to give me. By the end, she was struggling to keep it together and I felt the ache of wanting to go to her like a physical pain. I held it all, as if I could build up a tolerance to her if I practiced enough, as if it was my punishment for feeling it in the first place.

When our time was up, I stood to open the door for her, something I'd never done. I just needed to be closer. _Fight it_. When she was a couple of feet away, she caught her toe on the rug and fell forward. I reached out without thinking and grabbed her arm. "Are you alright?" I didn't let go right away. Her arm was so slender I could almost put my hand all the way around it despite the bulky sweater she wore. _You're treading on thin ice._

She looked at my hand and I released her, taking a quick step back. "Yeah."

I swung the door the rest of the way open and she walked out without saying anything.

Rosalie was already waiting at the door; she walked in without waiting for me to say anything. She situated herself on the chair, crossing her legs. I recognized the expression on her face; she wanted to say something. It wasn't a look I received from her very often; she typically said exactly what she wanted to whenever she wanted. "Hello Rosalie, well, you must be -,"

"What do you think you're doing?" Her body language remained placid, but the look in her eyes made my muscles tense.

"Excuse me?"

"You're going to do it that way?" She tilted her head; I could feel her challenge trying to coax me out. "The door was open, _Dr. Masen_; I'm not oblivious."

My stoicism was forced, my heart beat wildly against my chest like I'd been caught. I hadn't done anything wrong, I had to remind myself. Wanting and actually doing were two very different things and Rosalie couldn't possibly have any idea what I wanted. I watched her watch me as my wheels turned. This could be so easy; I knew Rosalie. I'd been her doctor for months; I knew what I could say to make her doubt herself, how to look at her, a disobedient child, amused and stern. I could change her mind with nothing more than a small shift in the cadence of my voice.

I blew out a breath; I couldn't, I didn't have that kind of manipulation in me. I didn't say anything.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing -,"

"I'm not playing any game, Rosalie." It was as honest as I could get with her.

"Leave her alone."

I had no answer for that.

She left after a while and I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. I tried not to think, so things came to me in images instead. The way Bella looked when she cried, the way she always sat with her legs up, the cream paleness of her face. I could hear the voice again. _You have to stop._

_I'm trying._

_You know what you have to do._

_Yes._

_You can't be her doctor anymore._

_I know._

I read through my notes, tried to think of someone who would be a good match, tried to think of any other way for this to go.I thought about what I knew for sure. One, James had isolated her without her realizing it. Her relationship with her father, and James' brother and his wife were the only ones she'd mentioned and as her relationship with James grew, her other ones suffered. Two, she was solitary by nature as it was. Three, she had serious issues with abandonment, but who in her position wouldn't? Her mother committed suicide and left her to be raised by an absent father and then the man she thought was the love of her life decided freedom through the barrel of a gun was the only way. She'd been left to fend for herself again and again with no one to look after her.

I wanted to fix what was broken inside her. I wanted her to be able to smile from true happiness. I wanted her to have a chance at a real life, with a job she had out of want and not necessity or college or trips abroad, things she could strive for without being afraid. Things I would never get to see her do.

Carlisle's stops into my office were becoming a regular thing. He liked to talk about progress we were making on shared cases, but it always managed to switch to topics about ourselves, which was strange I imagine for the both of us considering we spent every day doing the opposite. I had this feeling that perhaps he was lonely; he was married and I knew he was happy in that, but in other things I knew he was lacking. From what I could tell, he had no real friends, no children, no hobbies that didn't involve his work. We were a little like kindred spirits in some sad way. He was relaying to me a story about running into an old graduate professor when I interrupted him.

"I want to try something different with Bella Swan."

He stopped midsentence and raised his eyebrows, interested and open; I almost took it back. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, she's making progress, but…she's still having trouble coping with things here and I think it's going to start hindering her therapy." My reasoning sounded flimsy even to me.

He leaned back in his chair, amused and comfortable while I tried to keep it together under his gaze. "Well Edward, coping problems is hardly reason enough to -,"

I interrupted him again. "I know, it's just, it took me long enough to get to this point with her. I worry she's going to go back into herself." That much was true enough, the more she opened up, the sadder she became. I didn't want to trigger her into another attempt on her life, how many of those did you get before you were successful? I thought about what a prison this place must have felt like for her; I wanted to help her. I really did. "I was thinking about taking her out of here for a day." I said it quickly, my words seemed so transparent. _I want to see her in the sunlight_. No matter how many windows they put in this place, everything inside was in shadow, flattened and grey.

"You mean milieu?"

I nodded. "Something like that, she needs a break; we do it with other patients all the time." It helped certain people to be out in the world; they learned how to cope with every day stressors and some eventually became more receptive to more traditional therapy as well. From my experience with Bella, her life had been very enclosed. I wondered how much of the outside world she'd seen in the last few years.

I stayed silent as Carlisle looked through her file. "Well, she does have clearance, but…," he paused and I was ready for the disappointment. But then the words I'd been waiting for. "Where were you planning on taking her?"

* * *

Rosalie didn't hug; she didn't even say goodbye really.

It wasn't until I saw her closing her suitcase that it really sunk in that she was leaving and that I would be alone again. Selfish or not, I hoped something would go wrong, that she would have to stay with me.

I didn't even try to be strong.

I spoke through watering eyes and a thickening voice, "You can't go."

She had one of those vintage looking suitcases, the kind that snapped shut instead of zipping. "Bella," she said it on a sigh, "I've been in here…for a long time. It's time for me to go." She came around so she was standing between the beds. "You don't realize how much I've put on hold to be in this place."

I dared to step closer and I knew I looked pathetic, but I just couldn't be here without her. "You can't just…," leave me, I wanted to say. But I couldn't talk while the walls closed in around me the way they were; they pushed all the air out of the room and when I looked at Rosalie, I saw for an instant the way I must look to her. Weak. Pitiable.

But it wasn't enough to keep her here.

"Bella, don't, ok? Don't get attached, to me or this place." She looked at me then and it reminded me of the way my mother would sometimes look at me, before she let go of everything. I knew she wasn't going to say anything else, the same way she knew that nothing she could say would fix the panic I was feeling. Before I knew what I was doing I'd put my arms around her, like the sheer force of my will would keep her there. I put every ounce of myself into it and she still pulled out of my arms like it was nothing. She looked down as she grabbed her suitcase off the bed and I was grateful because any single look or touch would have split me in two. She walked to the door while I watched and then put her suitcase down and turned to me. "Be careful ok?" She took three quick steps back into the room and took my face between her hands; she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss onto my forehead.

I closed my eyes and pretended she was my mother and she was leaving again, but at least this time I knew it.

By the time I opened my eyes, Rosalie was gone.

* * *

Author's Note: First, thank you so much for reading; I'm running out of ways to show my appreciation. You guys totally make my days better. So, in news, my story Letters to Gramercy has been nominated for an Indie Twific Award, which is fully awesome; I've never been nominated for anything in my life. I don't think voting has started yet, but I've put the link to the Indies site in my profile. (big dorky smile) :)

Also, slowly but surely I'm going to pull the pictures for the stories off my profile. They'll still be up, I'm just going to put them on my homepage instead (which is linked on my profile); I felt like it was starting to look too messy the way they are now.

Someone also asked if this was based on Jodi Picoult's story The Pact; it isn't, but story time...I was at the bookstore a while back and I saw the cover for that book sitting on a shelf and the entire plotline for this story literally came to me, just like that. I didn't even have to pick up the book; it was surreal, but I'm so grateful I happened to be there!

And the playlist for this story is linked on my homepage up through this chapter, go check it out.

Lastly, and to repeat, you guys are the best!


	10. Nine: Milieu

Author's Note: At the end. This chapter changes points of view.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Nine: Milieu

Carlisle was letting me take her out of the hospital for a day.

Not a full day really, I was getting eight hours. Eight hours to try and show her something different, to open things up to her and see her in the sunlight. And then I would start the transition out of the picture. It would be gradual; she couldn't think I was abandoning her too, but it would also be final. It was time to say goodbye. I felt like I'd been stringing us both along and a part of me knew this would only damage her recovery. I had to remember that.

There were rules to this outing. I couldn't take my own car, I only had the aforementioned eight hours, there were forms to fill out, phone calls to be made, I had to remember to keep my receipts. I had to be ready in case she broke down.

But we were getting out, just us; I was shocked when Carlisle didn't demand a nurse as part of the requirements. It showed just how much belief and respect he had in me and my work.

_Identify the feeling._

_Guilt._

I pushed it aside; there was no more reason to feel guilty. I was going to tell him my plans for transitioning Bella into therapy with Dr. Weber. We would introduce them; let her get used to the idea of someone new. I would only step back once she was comfortable.

And then I was going to leave.

Not forever, of course, I wouldn't know what to do with myself if that were the case. Just for a while. I didn't know what I was going to do besides the obligatory get the hell out of Los Angeles. I would get it all out of my system, the city, the sameness, the smog, _the girl_. Yes, Bella too; I'd come far enough to admit my attraction was a lot more than nothing. But I'm selfish and I wanted this one day with her before I let it all go, to stand with her without a barrier; I wanted that more than anything – to stand next to her. I could feel hope welling from some unknown spring, threatening to drown me. But I held on tighter anyway; I wanted to remember it all, for the time when that was all I had. I thought about how her eyes lit up, cautiously at first, when I told her I was taking her out for the day during our last session. I wanted to tattoo that on my memory, the first time I saw her happy.

"Sir?" The girl's curious voice brought me back. "Your keys?" She held out the keys to the rental car I'd been ordered to use and I took them with a quiet thank you; I felt like I was getting away with something.

* * *

I pulled James' sweater off, my anchor, punishment, and own personal albatross, and threw it on the bed; it sat there limply, stretched at the elbows and neck, reminding me of where my loyalty was. I picked it up and pressed it to my face; I couldn't smell him on it anymore. Just myself and a slightly smoky smell that things get when they're too close to the fire for a time, a smell that wouldn't come out no matter how many times I'd washed it. I held the sweater in front of me, tried to force myself to remember, but realized I didn't have the will. _Not today, this was my day. My day with Edward Masen_, _Dr. Masen, Edward_. I played with it in my head; it almost felt disrespectful to think of him that way.

I looked at the sweater again, then balled it up and stuffed it under my bed.

I was self conscious without it's thickness to cover me and so, despite the heat I knew was waiting for me just outside, I pulled a sweatshirt on over my t-shirt. Satisfied, I opened Wuthering Heights and waited, trying not to look at the empty bed next to me.

I heard the knock after I noticed the girl standing in my open doorway. I hoped by not acknowledging her, she would understand and go away; instead she knocked on the door frame, smiling. It was an unkind smile, the kind that said – _I can hurt you. _I looked up and made an attempt at friendliness, "hi."

Her eyes gleamed, she chewed on her thumbnail. "I know what you did." Someone behind her got her attention and she turned. "Good morning, Esme," she said sweetly.

Esme appeared, a savior in purple scrubs. "Victoria," it sounded like a greeting and a warning. The girl smiled again and wandered off.

"Hello Bella," Esme smiled; she reminded me of one of those perfect mountain lakes, serene with a surface as smooth as glass. "Are you ready for your outing today?" I wondered if she was coming with us and let the vague disappointment slide over my rough edges.

I nodded and felt my heart pick up. I forced it to slow down, strangling the hopefulness before it could get to me. Once I'd changed my expression into one of passivity, I stood up to follow Esme. She led me to the elevator and put in her key; we went down to the first floor. I couldn't remember ever being there. Instead of taking me to where I assumed the front was, we went to the side, past what looked like a lobby, down a beige hallway and through a door.

Outside.

Not entirely, but close enough. It was the bottom floor of a parking garage and despite the smell of stale exhaust; I could feel the fresh air.

There was a breeze. I could have cried as I felt it ever so slightly move across my face and through my hair. My color today was cloudless blue. I stood there with Esme outwardly silent as we waited.

The car pulled up moments later and I took a breath, wishing for an instant that I could close my hand around my heart to slow it's incessant beat. I couldn't let it soar like that, not for someone else. I watched as Dr. Masen pulled up to the curb and stepped out; for some reason I expected him to be in something other than his usual suit. Esme touched my elbow lightly, guiding me toward the car. "Are you ready?" She asked again.

It was a good question.

* * *

Sweet, Bella smelled like something sweet, but not overpoweringly so; it was soft and enough to make me rethink all my plans. I was relieved when she rolled down her window; I felt like I hadn't breathed in almost an hour. The drive was going surprisingly well on Bella's end. She hadn't spoken much, but her expression was calm as she looked out the window and I imagined she was as happy as I was to get away from the hospital. I imagined that this small trip would be something she would remember the same way I would. I held that thin bit of hope in my hands; it would have to be enough.

How did this happen? How the hell did I _let_ this happen? I had always been constant, responsible, and in control and now I was weak, barely containing my attraction for a _patient_. I couldn't let myself forget that she was a _patient_, a troubled girl that needed help. Help that she would eventually understand could not come from me. I thought about that and about what I was doing and it took all I had not to turn around and go back.

Bella cleared her throat quietly, "where are we going?"

I could feel her looking at me; there would be no turning around. I looked at her from the corner of my eye and tried not to smile, "it's a surprise." In truth, I'd spent a long time trying to decide where to take her, trying to figure out what might spark her interest. I went over and over what I knew about her; I had to take into consideration how taking her away from what was familiar might also frighten her.

"I don't like surprises," she muttered, tugging the sleeve of her sweatshirt over her hospital bracelet; I could tell she would be self conscious about it. Despite that, I wanted to touch her wrist, to feel the skin there that looked so thin.

_Patient_.

"Well, we're here now anyway," I pulled into the parking lot while she looked around; it was like the first time she'd seen anything. I got out and stretched, felt the heat of the day, and decided to leave my suit jacket in the car. It felt strange, being without it. When I looked over the roof of the car I noticed Bella was watching me. "You can leave your sweatshirt, if you'd like." She hesitated a second before pulling it off and tossing it on her seat; she had a dark blue t-shirt on underneath. Seeing that much of her skin caught me off guard; I hadn't looked at her that way before. She was cream and roses under the light of the day; her hair was a dark reddish brown and her eyes were bright and I knew I was staring but to hell with rules. She was no longer just a woman I felt the need to protect, someone I felt great caring and affection for; now she was a woman I wanted.

When she came around to my side she was fiddling with her bracelet, trying to find a way to hide it. She was distracted and frustrated and I made up my mind that one small crossed line could be lived with. I stepped closer and unfastened my watch, then took her wrist in one hand and slid it onto her with the other. It was too large, but covered a good portion of the bracelet, enough that you couldn't tell what it was.

She stared at it instead of looking up at me. "Thanks."

I shrugged, "it looks better on you anyway."

I led her through the parking lot toward the entryway and we both looked around like we'd never seen color before. There was space here, and green, something green and actually living. There were pale buildings ahead of us, and a breeze instead of the temperature controlled refrigeration of the hospital.

"The Huntington Library?" She said it with a smile in her voice and rolled up slightly onto the balls of her feet. She was excited. "I've never been here before. Did you know they have a copy of the Gutenberg Bible?"

We walked toward the ticket counter, "they have a lot more than just that." Bella stood very close, like she was afraid of getting lost, but just far enough away that our arms never brushed. She looked around the open air pavilion, but waited for me; she was very much like a child, I noted, trying to remind myself of who I was. _Doctor. Patient._

"Where to first?" She asked and I could feel the buzz of her anticipation. This was actually working; she was more relaxed and though she still wouldn't look me in the eye, I could feel a barrier coming down for her_. Take care of her today, and then let her go. Let everything go._ I steeled myself; I knew today was my last day. The finality of it pulled my mood in opposite directions.

I smiled, "this way."

She followed a step behind, taking in everything she passed and I wondered briefly just how sheltered her life had been. She reached out to various things that caught her eye as we walked inside one of the main building, but didn't touch; it took her a minute to realize exactly where she was. She'd had her gaze focused so intently on the individual parts of the large room. She looked around, "the library?"

I gestured, "it's over there." I watched her walk over to the Gutenberg Bible display; she clasped her hands behind her and stared down at it, her head tilted thoughtfully. She read everything in the display. When I got to her, she looked up at me, smiling.

"Now I can say I've seen it."

Something I noticed throughout the day, something I would hold onto, was that Bella tended to wander as she got more comfortable. She noticed things the way a child might and was drawn to them like she couldn't help herself. After a while, I stopped trying to keep up with her, choosing instead to walk a few feet back.

Every minute or so, I'd catch her turning around, checking. She sped through the desert garden; she said that seeing things living in a place so desolate made her uncomfortable. I tried to make a mental note about that. _Doctor_.

I felt the sun moving across the sky like a warning that time was still being kept and I cursed it's perpetuity. When the light began changing from a brilliant shine to a more subdued gold, I knew it was almost time to go and I knew I had not paid enough attention, watching the time instead of watching Bella. Even she seemed to take note of the rapidly dwindling day, slowing down to walk next to me for the first time. I glanced down at her.

_I'll remember you just like this._

I made the silent promise to the both of us as I led her through the North Vista where the main buildings came into view. "Did you have a good time?"

She nodded as if she knew I'd been looking at her. She stopped near a sculpture and stared at it's marble shape. "Did you?" Her back was to me.

"Very much so," it wasn't a lie. The way her eyes would light up at each garden and exhibit, it was something imprinted on me now. I wanted to tell her, now more than ever, how important this day was to me, but I wouldn't inflict myself on her like that. It was the last day; I could keep quiet.

When Bella turned around, I realized we'd both stepped closer unconsciously; she was close enough to touch. _Doctor. Patient_. I held my hands tightly at my sides, the faster I got out of this town, the better. She looked me in the eye and, thinking back, despite what I did after, that was the moment I knew there would be no holding back. "Thank you," her voice was soft. She looked down while I watched her face as she fiddled with something; when I felt her hand on my wrist, I realized she'd taken off the watch. I pulled my hand back.

"Keep it." I felt my mouth pull up ever so slightly at her put out expression. "I want you to." I knew she didn't like gifts, she'd mentioned as much before, but I couldn't help but leave something behind, like it would tie us together for as long as she kept it. It was the last day, I thought again. The next time I saw her, I would only be the doctor that was quitting her case. I noticed then that Bella had stepped forward and risen to the balls of her feet; she was almost eye level. She brought her face closer and I knew what she was going to do and that I had to stop her; that would be the final line. Her hands rose to my chest and I felt paralyzed; I couldn't let her kiss me, but I couldn't find my resolve. It wasn't until I felt the barest brush of her warm lips against mine that I woke up. I fisted my hands and stepped back. "No, that's…we…I can't." I hated the rejection, even more than if I, myself, had been rejected. I hated that I was her doctor, I hated that I hadn't known her before everything happened, and I hated James because he'd been able to touch her and kiss her and see her in ways I never would.

Bella took a small step closer. "Why not?"

"Because I'm your doctor; it's not appropriate. There are rules about this," I tried to remember the rest of my script, but came up empty.

"Oh," she nodded slowly to herself. After a moment, she pulled herself together, or hid what she was really feeling. We walked back to the parking lot quietly and I started thinking that maybe this whole thing was a mistake. I shouldn't have brought her out here at all; I wondered if she thought that kiss was what the day was leading up to. I wondered if I'd done more harm than good.

Mostly though, I thought about how, for just a moment, I'd kissed her back.

* * *

Author's Note: I know what I'm doing, I swear :) Thank you guys for reading, reviewing, alerting, and all that other stuff; you guys rock.

Anyway, the link for the Huntington Library website is in my profile; it's too beautiful a place to only post one or two pictures. Also, I mentioned in my last update that Letters to Gramercy was nominated for an Indie, well as it turns out, so was Saving Edward and this story :) Voting started today and I feel a little like I'm running for homecoming queen when I say go and vote for me, but there, I said it. I have the link in my profile and thanks again; I feel loved. I almost forgot, the playlist on my homepage is updated through this chapter.


	11. Ten: The Good Doctor

Author's Note: At the bottom again. This switches points of view.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Ten: The Good Doctor

Alice came to visit me the day after I went to the Huntington Library with Dr. Masen. She picked up on my lingering feelings of humiliation immediately.

"What's going on?" She demanded rather than asked. She leaned forward on her elbows, staring me down.

I shook my head, "just a bad couple of days is all." I hoped that would be enough, that she was politically correct enough not to question a mental patient about their "bad day."

"Something happened. I know you better than anyone, Bella. Don't lie to me."

I shrugged, tried to make no big thing of it, but was aware enough to keep my voice low. "I tried to kiss Dr. Masen yesterday."

"_What?!_" Her eyes were wide, her expression going from surprised to outrage almost faster than I could register it. She quieted to an angry, rushed whisper. "He can lose his license for that! Has he been coming on to you this whole time? He's probably doing this with other patients. Oh, Bella, I'm so _sorry!_ To think that he would take advantage of you like that," she paused, shaking her head. "Don't worry, ok? I'll take care of everything; you won't have to see him ever again." She pulled out her cell phone.

"Alice, stop," I reached, meaning to grab the phone, but got air instead. "I didn't say _he_ came on to _me; _I said _I_ came on to _him _-,"

"That doesn't matter, Bella; he's your doctor."

"It's fine; he didn't let it happen anyway. So…everything's fine." I crossed my arms in front of me.

Alice sighed heavily. "I don't like this."

"I'll be fine," there was that word again – fine. "It was wrong, ok? I know that now."

She looked at me helplessly. "Be careful, Bella." She switched to a safer topic and didn't mention my confession again.

I think she hoped what she said would sink in, but I knew I was in too deep already. It wasn't the failed kiss that kept me up that night; it was the way his wrist felt under my fingers. How for that moment there was nothing between us, no desk and no office, no regulations or punishments. And somewhere beside that, far in the back, was another thing that I wasn't entirely willing to see, but knew I had to admit. He was saying goodbye. I had felt it the whole day in the way he was distracted by the time, the way he looked when he told me to keep his watch. I didn't know when, but he was leaving. It was just as well.

The next morning, I got a new roommate. I was writing the date in my journal when Esme and the girl came inside. _I think it's July now_, I'd stopped writing every day and had lost track of time. Esme opened the door and started talking with no preamble. "Good morning Bella, your new roommate is here. This is Tanya, Tanya this is Bella."

Esme stayed near the doorway and let us get acquainted. I couldn't be as confident and nonchalant as Rosalie had been during our first meeting, especially not with a girl that looked like this one did. Tanya was blonde, but her hair had more red in it than Rosalie's. And she looked like one of those World War II era calendar girls. She held her arms around herself tightly, her small green duffel bag pressed against her middle; I noticed the laces had been taken out of her shoes. We both listened as Esme gave the same speech from when I was new. After she left I decided to take a page from Rosalie's manual.

"What are you in for?" It felt unnatural to ask, privacy invasion was not my pastime of choice.

She moved her bag to one hand and touched the other to the bed; she tilted her head like she was recalling something pleasant. "Addiction," she answered.

I wondered to what, but didn't ask. She didn't have the reddish puffiness of an alcoholic, or the paranoid withdrawal of a drug user. I watched her sweep a hand over the bed again.

When I got to Dr. Masen's office that afternoon, I decided not to knock, but then changed my mind at the last minute so I ended up knocking while opening the door. He wasn't alone in his office, there was a woman sitting in the chair I usually occupied, dressed casually, but still too nicely to be a patient. I stood in the doorway, my hand still on the knob, looking back and forth between them.

They stood at the same time and the woman smiled at me. "Bella, come in," her voice was quiet; it was like listening to someone speak through a low breeze. I came in hesitantly and remained standing.

"Bella, this is Dr. Weber; I'd like the three of us to get to know each other today, if that's alright." His voice was professional and a little louder than normal; he didn't look into my eyes for more than a split second at a time. I crossed my arms around my middle; it was happening already. "Dr. Weber is going to sit in with us for a while today, and then I'll give you a chance to speak to me privately. Is that alright?" He asked again.

I nodded.

"Do you prefer the couch or the chair?" Dr. Weber asked.

I cleared my throat, but my voice still cracked, "chair." She moved to the couch so I could sit down; I brought my knees up, wrapped my arms around them tightly to keep from shaking. I couldn't make myself believe that this was really happening. Again. Just as I let my guard down, just as I was letting the light in; I should have known better. Had I been a different sort of person I might have laughed.

Dr. Weber asked a lot of questions about my preferences. Morning or night? Asking questions or answering them? Simple things, this or that, easing me in. She also asked how I liked Sonoma; she said she was born there. I wanted to tell her I should have died there. At the end she asked if I had any questions or concerns and I wondered if she knew he hadn't told me about the switch yet. I shook my head. She said it was nice to have met me and I could tell she was debating on whether or not to shake my hand; she didn't.

It felt like tiny hummingbird wings were beating inside my chest by the time Dr. Weber left. I didn't know how to play it, angry? Hurt? Ignorant? Relieved?

"What did you think of Dr. Weber?"

I turned to him blankly, my body still pressing in on itself. I couldn't think of anything to say, the new doctor was like a strange dream I'd had that I'd already forgotten. "I didn't eat lunch today." His desk was empty of everything but what I assumed was my file. I watched his face for a reaction that wasn't there. I couldn't decide what was real, this or the Edward Masen from before.

"I'm sorry, but I already ate, so there isn't anything in here but half a bottle of water. You can have a nurse take you to the cafeteria once we're finished." He steepled his fingers in front of him and the little rhyme ran through my head. _Here's the church, here's the steeple, open it up, where's all the people? _"Now, I imagine you have some questions."

Just one, actually. "How long before you're not my doctor anymore?"

He looked surprised, but masked it quickly. "I'm hoping to make the transition within the next two weeks. That will be subject to change, of course."

"Depending on how easily I accept it?" I knew that was exactly what he meant, but I liked seeing a genuine reaction.

He eyed me carefully, "yes. Do you have other questions?"

I let my feet touch the floor, this was going to be my only chance; I could already see the door closing and I was desperate. "Why are you doing this? Is it because of what happened the other day? Because I'm sorry, I shouldn't have -,"

"No," he interrupted. "It wasn't…that. Bella…," he trailed off, his voice was slowly returning to the tone I was used to. "Bella, you and I have a doctor/patient relationship and nothing more. I can't…," he stopped again; he looked frustrated. "It wouldn't be appropriate, plus I could lose my practice. There are rules, rules that I happen to abide by. We crossed a line and I have to make sure that doesn't happen again." I saw him trying to bring the hardness back to his face.

I stood up, unsure of what I was doing. "And if you weren't my doctor anymore?" _Here I was, take it or leave it_.

He cleared his throat, "We cannot have a relationship, regardless. It would still be unethical and the same consequences would apply." He made the motion of checking the time, not remembering he'd given me his watch, then looked at a small clock on the wall. "Our time is up for today; I'll see you on Friday, Bella." He pushed back from his desk, indicating we were finished. I followed the nurse back to my room, where I wished for the first time that I didn't share it with anyone.

The girl was in the hallway when I got back, Victoria. She chewed on the nail of her index finger, the same cruel smile on her face; she waited for the nurse to leave before she said anything. "I know what you did," she said, dropping her hand to her side. She flicked a section of red hair behind one shoulder; she looked like a cat twitching her tail.

I sighed, impatient. "And what's that?" My hand was on the doorknob.

The sudden malice in her expression frightened me. "You killed your boyfriend."

* * *

By the time our appointment was over, my resolve was shaking. By the end of the day, it had dissolved completely. "Just go to your car and drive home." I said to myself. I made a list earlier in the afternoon of things to get done.

_Throw out sandwich stuff_

_Buy groceries_

_Go for a run_

_Talk to the front office about renewing my apartment lease for another year_

I stuffed my laptop into my bag and grabbed my keys to lock up; it was a little earlier than normal and I felt a stab of guilt about missing one of my daily talks with Carlisle. But on my list of things I should feel guilty about, that was near the bottom.

_You did the right thing._

_No. I should go find her and beg for her forgiveness. How will she ever trust me again if she thinks I can just throw her away?_

_That's not an issue anymore; you did what you had to do. She's better off without you._

"Edward, hi," I heard Angela Weber's voice behind me as I stepped into the hall. It was exactly the person I did not want to see.

"Hello Angela, are you done for the day?" I slung my bag over my shoulder and repeated my to-do list in my head.

"Yes, long day. I actually wanted to talk to you for a minute. Are you parked out front?" I said I was and she offered to walk with me. "How was Bella after I left this afternoon?"

I couldn't tell her the truth; I could feel what I wanted to say rising in my throat. This was the reason I didn't want to see her; I knew my house of cards would collapse. It would be so easy – I take it all back, your services are no longer required. _Just say it, lie to her_. "Actually, Angela," I paused as we stepped into the elevator. "She isn't transitioning as well as I'd hoped."

She didn't seem too put out. "Well, it was only the first session; I'm sure she'll get more comfortable as time goes on. We'll just have to be careful; I wouldn't want to put anymore undo stress on her."

I jumped in without thinking about it. "I think maybe this was a mistake. I mean, she has such serious abandonment issues, I'm afraid this will make it worse after all," I felt like it wasn't me talking, not the me I was used to. I screamed at myself to fix it, that leaving was the best thing for the both of us, but no resolution would come. I felt this conversation like an avalanche.

Angela paused just outside the elevator, "but I thought you needed to lighten your workload?"

I shook my head, "I can handle this. It'll be better for Bella this way; I don't want to lose all the progress we've made." I could feel my own desperation; I could feel the heat of the fire I was playing with.

Angela nodded, accepting. It was almost too easy.

* * *

Author's Note: Naughty rule breaking Edward, tsk tsk.

Anyway, thanks to everyone! And news - my stories Letters to Gramercy and Saving Edward have made it through to the final round of the Indies! Thanks to everyone who voted, it means the world to me. I think the final round of voting starts on the 22nd; the link to the Indies site is in my profile.

Also, I wanted to say a special thank you to the ladies over at The Perv Pack's Smut Shack for recommending Letters on their site! Thank you and you make me want to write dirty one shots.


	12. Eleven: Lessons in Fear

Author's Note: I can't thank you guys enough for reading; you're awesome. Also, voting for the Indies is going on, so go vote and make my day :) I'm nominated for Letters to Gramercy (best alternate universe human) and Saving Edward (best original story line).

Anyway, just one point of view for this chapter.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Eleven: Lessons in Fear

Time is a strange thing.

In physics, the term time dilation refers to one's observation of another person's experience of time as slower than one's own experience of it. Time moves differently depending on your encounter with it.

I wasn't ready to die; I could feel myself digging my heels in though I followed James' directions to the letter. And I could feel his patience wearing thin; he saw no more point to life. He said society trapped you, enslaved you; it made you offer up your soul on a silver platter. He said there was only one way to be truly free. Life, by definition, was transitory; we were just taking control back. And I wasn't going to let him leave without me.

"Hey," someone was shaking me. I opened my eyes, adjusting to the darkness and reality of the room. The shaking stopped, but I still felt the hand on me.

I sat up. "What's wrong?" I said automatically.

Tanya sat on the edge of my bed; I'd noticed over the last day and a half she had very little awareness of personal space. I felt her palm on the ball of my shoulder over the worn fabric of my shirt and then the relief as she slowly set both hands in her lap. "You were talking in your sleep; I thought you were crying."

"Oh?" I was curious to how much she'd heard.

"At first it was nonsense, but then…who's James?"

I tensed at hearing his name from her mouth and unfamiliar voice. I had the lie ready, _he's no one_. But I couldn't lie; there was something about Tanya that pulled the truth forward without any effort from her. I still didn't know exactly why she was in this place, but I'd noticed a strange duality about her. Innocent, like she was seeing everything for the first time and very sexual, everything about her screamed _touch me, I'll let you do whatever you want. _I could see how men would be drawn to her. "He was my boyfriend."

She moved further back on my bed, got comfortable, but not like she was settling in for gossip; it felt more like genuine concern. "What was he like?" She seemed to understand the past tense from my statement. I found myself telling her everything, more than I'd even told Dr. Masen; I didn't know what I was doing, or if it was possibly only because of the lateness of the hour, but I couldn't stop myself.

She showed her emotions on her sleeve and she put her hand on my knee when she thought I needed comfort. It was the most anyone had touched me since James. It was unnerving in its satisfaction and I silently wished for it to stop. "Why do you do that?" She asked.

"Do what?"

She touched my knee again. "That, you flinch when I touch you."

"Oh? I hadn't noticed," I attempted to play it off as nothing.

"People are so afraid of each other," she said in her soft girlish voice. "Can you imagine what the world would be like if we let that go?"

I couldn't tell if she wanted me to answer or not, so I waited. And as much as I tried not to, I started thinking about what she said. My life was ruled by my fear of it, of people, of rejection and abandonment and conversely, of loneliness. Of being so afraid of people that there would be no one left. But again and again, people came into my life only to leave it, what person wouldn't be afraid?

She got up after a minute and went back to her own bed, leaving me to think. I held my fear to me like a blanket; I couldn't imagine a world where it didn't exist. What would be the first thing I'd do?

I wrote in the box for the day, _July 3rd, almost two months in captivity, learning things about fear. _Tanya had given me the date. I had nothing else to write, so I drew constellations in the blank spaces – Orion, Virgo, Ursa Major – and then made up my own – the Grape Vine, the Gun, the Truck. I didn't even notice Hatchet until she was standing by my bed; it was time for my appointment. With Masen, with the new doctor too; I tried to push the goodbye out of my head, but I could feel the fear anyway.

This time I knocked and waited until I heard the muffled male voice telling me to come inside. I stepped in cautiously, my barriers firmly in place, but saw only one person. He sat at his desk, the same as he did every day, and his lunch was spread out in front of him like an act of contrition, _forgive me_; it was like the last appointment never happened and it made me think of time again. Of the way it moves; I thought maybe I'd gone backward. I moved slowly; it felt like I was walking through water. I sat down, brought my knees up, and forced all hope out of my body with a long exhale.

He nodded, "Bella." It was the quieter, smoother voice, the one I was used to. I wondered again what was going on. He cleared his throat once, twice. "Dr. Weber will not be joining us for any more appointments." It sounded final.

"Why not?" That was as close to the edge as I dared to go.

"I decided I was better suited for you." He rested his elbows on his desk, his intelligent eyes studying me, predicting my movements.

"But what about…ethics?"

"What about them?" He paused to open his water bottle. "Have you eaten lunch?"

I stared blankly; I couldn't figure any of this out. He was my doctor and then he was preparing to leave me with someone else like a toy tossed into the Goodwill box, and now he was back? For how long this time? I thought about what Tanya said, what kind of world would I live in if I wasn't so afraid? "Are you going to leave again?"

He leaned forward just enough to make it feel intimate; I set my feet on the floor and wondered what it would feel like if he touched me again. "Absolutely not."

I didn't know what to make of that, but decided I was finished asking questions. "I skipped lunch today." I watched as he cut his sandwich in half, reached with it across the desk, an offering. "Thanks."

The whole session after that felt fake, like we were extras in a movie scene background – _move your lips, but don't say anything. _He knew I wasn't taking it seriously and I knew he wasn't either; the pen he held so tightly still had the cap on it. The room began to fill up with everything we weren't saying until I had to bring my knees up again because of the lack of space.

"Why do you do that?" He interrupted himself to ask.

I was sure he had his own theory, something about defense mechanisms or unconscious self protection. I tried to answer anyway. "I don't know…Maybe, if I'm small enough, I'll just…," I sighed; it was as close with words as I could get. Did I want to disappear? That didn't seem quite right.

I thought about it. I didn't understand why I was here if everyone I touched left me; I suppose I wanted to be the one doing the leaving. I just didn't have the strength.

"Don't you think it's living rather than suicide that requires the strength?"

My head snapped up; I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud. I hesitated, my words floundering, "no…I mean…I don't know; I'm not strong enough for anything I guess."

"But you're still here; you're getting through it."

I shook my head. "I'm not, I'm just…surviving." For some reason, I thought of Victoria and her malicious smile.

"That can be enough for now." Something in his tone said he wanted more than that for me. Something in his tone made me want more than that for me too, more than fearing the red haired girl down the hall, more than just living invisibly and getting by, more than trying to suffocate the hope right out of me.

And then I had some kind of epiphany. Dr. Masen believed in me, not because of any requirement to do so, but because he listened and cared and really wanted a better life for me. I smiled, first toward the floor I'd been staring at and then at him. "Thanks," I bit my lip, shyness taking over.

He smiled back, it softened his face, gave him a look I hadn't seen before.

When the session was over, he got up to open the door for me again; the first time had made me nervous, when he caught me before I fell. I was nervous again, but for a different reason this time. He put his hand on the doorknob and then let go, facing me instead. "Bella, I wanted to apologize," he looked at me, a crease forming between his eyebrows, like my forgiving him was vital. "I just wanted you to know that I haven't given up on you," he reached out with one hand like he might touch me and then changed his mind. "And I'm not going anywhere."

I touched his hand. I meant for it to be brief, to ease the stress in his expression, but he grasped my hand firmly, not letting go. "Dr. Mas-,"

"Edward," he corrected. "You can call me Edward."

I looked up at him, feeling something well up inside me; it was foreign but not entirely unpleasant. I grinned. "Pink."

He looked amused, "what?"

My blush made his smile widen. "Nothing," I looked down, my face burning, "I didn't mean to say anything." What I'd meant was - that was my color, pink. It lasted just long enough for me to grasp, but it was there; it was something I'd remember.

It was amplified when he let go of my hand and touched it to the underside of my chin, long enough to get me to look up before he let go. I forced my breathing to slow, a part of me still trying to tamp down any hope I might have, and froze, not knowing how to feel in the moment. He kept his eyes on me, but made no attempt to move in one direction or the other. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but there was a knock on the door, the next appointment.

I didn't feel the tears until I was back on my own floor; I wouldn't say I was crying out of sadness, but it wasn't really happiness either. It was the fact that this was so alien to me and I was suddenly aware of how completely unfair this all was. We shouldn't have met this way. I should have bumped into him at a book store or however it was that people met; it wasn't fair that this all had become so impossible.

I felt childish and naïve. Fair? Since when was anything ever fair?

I grabbed a book from my room once I got back and hurried out before Tanya could strike up a conversation. It's not that talking with her was bad; in fact, the childlike openness was nice to be around. What bothered me was that she liked to ask questions; her disregard for boundaries, I noticed, fell over into all other parts of her life as well. What was my first kiss like? If I could go back and re-live one day, which would it be? What was my father like? She asked a lot of questions about my father, but didn't like to talk about her own.

When I got to the dayroom, I saw Victoria was sitting at one of the chairs by the window; she looked like a cat warming herself in a small ray of sunlight. I walked past the open room, not sure where the right place to go might be. For all of her beautiful appearance, Victoria frightened me; I couldn't imagine willingly being in the same room as her. I remembered when she first came here, when Rosalie was still here. "Be careful around that one," she'd said. When I asked if she knew the girl, she just shook her head, "I can just tell." I wondered if Rosalie had been protecting me.

I thought about Tanya and Victoria and how, no matter how strange it was to me, I'd rather be in my own room answering Tanya's questions than within any distance of Victoria.

She didn't notice me until I walked past the dayroom again; she was up and at my side before I had time to pick up my pace in the hallway. She stared at me and I wondered if she could hear my heart's staccato beat. For some reason, I thought about time again, and fear. She wrapped her hand around my arm; the way a mother might to discipline a child. I waited for the accusation or threat or whatever it was she was going to say, hoping that it would be over fast.

"We need to talk," she tried pulling me farther into the hallway, away from listening ears. There was no point in resisting her; she would find her way to me eventually. She maneuvered us so my back was to the wall; I had to look up to see her face. I tried not to be afraid of her, but there was something in her eyes that was hateful and cruel and I couldn't help but fear it. "I know you did it, I just want to know why." She stared at me as if I knew what she was saying.

I could feel my thoughts racing, trying to find the right thing to say. I fell back further into the wall. "I…I didn't," I stuttered. _Go away, please just go away, please. _I could see her disgust, and most of all, I could see her instability.

She inched closer, impatient with my ignorance. When I still didn't speak, she screamed in my face. "You _killed him! You killed James!" _I could feel her hands gripping my arms; they were shaking from her anger. _"_Why_ him?! _Why couldn't it be_ you?!" _She pushed hard enough that my head hit the wall.

And then there were hands, sets of them, pulling us apart. I felt Esme force her to release me. And then there was another hand, a familiar one, pulling me away. I could hear Victoria yelling that it wasn't over, but I heard it as though I were deep under water. When I surfaced, I was outside my room.

"Are you alright?" I saw nothing but concern in his expression; I didn't know what he saw in mine.

I glanced down the hall, but Victoria had apparently been taken away; we were alone. I nodded, "I'm fine."

"You're going to have a bruise."

I looked at my upper arm where Victoria grabbed me; it was an angry red color, a perfect print of her small hand. And I knew it had to be against the rules, but when I felt his fingers brush across it I didn't care about someone walking down the hallway or the consequences of what was happening between us. I didn't care that I should be worrying about how Victoria knew James' name and what she was going to do next. I had my back to the wall again, but this was entirely different.

I felt Edward's thumb moving softly over my bruised arm; when he spoke, his voice came out in a rough whisper, "what are you doing to me?"

I stepped closer and watched his eyes close.

I wasn't sure if that was a question meant to be answered.


	13. Twelve: Gravity

Author's Note: Hi everyone, my thanks to all of you guys :). No news or anything today, just an update. Switching points of view in this one so watch for the line breaks.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Twelve: Gravity

I left at five o'clock that day for the first time in I couldn't remember how long. I picked up Chinese food and all but ignored the brunette at the counter when she not so delicately announced she was single. Instead I was thinking about Esme. About what she might do and who she might tell and for reasons better left unexplored, it made me want to go further.

She had seen us that afternoon in the hallway. And to anyone else, it would have been nothing. But Esme Cullen was not just anyone and she knew better than to simply shrug it off. She saw the way Bella and I looked at each other and the way we stood just a little too close for comfort; she saw me touch Bella's arm and the way I leaned into her without thinking. When I finally stepped away, Esme was staring, arms crossed at the end of the long hallway. I walked up to her without having to be told, like her misbehaving son. She turned and strode past the dayroom to a more private area.

I cleared my throat. "Is everything alright?" I crossed my arms, mimicking her position.

"Dr. Masen," she started, "we have worked together for a while now and you are a good friend to my husband, so I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. Can you please explain your behavior with Miss Swan as of late?" Her tone was sharp, but not without any give; she wanted to believe whatever I had to say.

"As of late?" I asked stupidly. As far as I knew, the only time Bella and I had been seen together was moments before and I was fairly certain I could explain that away.

"I saw you in the hallway with her and I've had a patient come to me with concerns about the two of you."

"What?" The last part caught me off guard. "Which patient? When was that?" I was starting to sound guilty.

"I'm not at liberty to say who, but they are no longer a patient here anyway. It was almost two weeks ago."

She stared at me and looking past the skepticism and pointed look in her eyes, I saw what was really there. She was right; I was a friend to her husband, although I hadn't quite realized it. I was possibly the only one he had and that carried weight with Esme. _Tell me everything is alright_, her expression said, _I'll believe you_. But there was fierceness there too, which made me more nervous than I was letting on; if you messed with her patients, you messed with her.

I didn't want to lie to her, but I was toeing the line regardless. "Was it Rosalie? She mentioned the same thing to me," I sighed as if I was nonplussed by the whole situation. "She saw me catch Bella's arm when she tripped last week in my office and came to believe I was making a pass at her. I can assure you it was nothing more than that." I used my most persuasive smile.

"And just now?"

"When you and I pulled Victoria and Bella apart?" I feigned confusion. "There's nothing to tell. I checked her arm; she's going to have a nasty bruise."

She looked at me another moment before loosening her stance; I could see what was coming next and I silently begged her not to do it. Relaxation of the expression, removal of doubt, second guessing of her intuition.

She smiled and laughed quietly to herself. "I'm sorry, Edward." There it was, proof; I did have that kind of manipulation in me. "I should have known, Rosalie does have a flair for the dramatic." She was used to seeing the closeness between Carlisle and his patients, the way he went the extra mile, stayed up late researching, formed the bond. Of course she would believe I was like him.

I smiled tightly, "you're just being protective, Esme; I wouldn't have it any other way."

She squeezed my arm lightly, "Yes but I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions; I'm sorry. I know you're a much better man than that."

No, I wasn't.

I stepped back, mumbling a few platitudes before excusing myself.

I stood at my kitchen counter, eating Chinese food out of little cartons, letting the guilt hit me; I welcomed it. I had been confronted twice and gotten away scot free both times. I set my fork down, my appetite waning. What the hell was I doing? Did I think things would go on this way indefinitely? How long before I was caught doing something I couldn't talk my way out of? I stuck the mostly full cartons in the fridge and went to my bedroom to change; I needed to clear my head the only way I knew how.

By the time I was on the jogging trail, I started feeling better. No less guilty, but better enough that I could sweep everything to the side. Instead I focused on the cooler air of the evening, the way my body felt as I pushed harder over an incline, and the steady breaths I used to help pace myself. Things were not impossible; there was always a solution. It was just a matter of finding the right one.

_You should have stepped back, out of the picture. That was the right solution_.

_I can't do that._

_Why not?_

_I don't think I can be apart from her. _

I knew that as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, but it didn't stop me from picking up speed, trying to leave all thought behind.

I came into work Monday no clearer than when I left that Friday. I said hello to Carlisle and Esme as he brought a cup of coffee to the nurses' station. I went over a medication change with Nurse Klein and then met a new patient with Carlisle. I went through all the motions trying to force myself to pull answers out of thin air. Leaving seemed like my only option; it would hurt, but the best choice often does. I tried to be clinical about it, but I could feel the strain of my decision ripping me apart by the seams. I forced myself into stoicism as I listened to Carlisle talk to the new patient. I thought her name was Annabelle, but I couldn't be sure. The only thing I really knew was that Bella's room was four doors away and I wondered if she could feel me the way I felt her.

Maybe she could; she was standing outside her door once we finished with the new patient. Carlisle saw her and smiled, "Bella, how are you today?" He had a way of speaking that even the most common pleasantry held vast importance.

We came to a stop outside her room. She ducked her head in a quick nod, "morning Dr. Cullen," she looked at me, "Dr. Masen."

I couldn't take my eyes off her and I knew then that I could never leave, no amount of forcing could get me to go anywhere without Bella. Looking back, I can say that it was at that moment I knew what was going to happen and though the decision would be made on impulse, I can't say it came from nowhere. I think maybe I was just waiting, looking for an excuse to act. I would gratefully take all the blame later.

There was a pause in the conversation where I realized we were done; Carlisle backed up a couple of steps and said a friendly goodbye. I expected his accusation, I expected him to feel it in the air between us though we spoke only in pleasantries that morning. But there was another part of me that understood that Carlisle saw the good first and would never suspect me of any wrongdoing.

I hadn't moved yet and I knew he would wait for me but for a split second as he turned to greet someone else, I dared to brush my hand along Bella's, to feel the heat there that I was sure others would notice. I moved away just as quickly, afraid of my own inability to control myself.

"Bella seems happier, looks tired though," Carlisle noted when we were out of earshot.

I made a sound of agreement. "Yeah."

* * *

With thirty minutes left until my appointment, I couldn't wait any longer. I went to the nurses' station and found Hatchet, begged her to let me see Dr. Masen, told her it was an emergency. It wasn't, or maybe it was depending on how you looked at it. She waited with me at the door, making sure he was available; she didn't leave until I was all the way inside the office. Edward stood when he saw me and took his glasses off. "You're early…,"

I managed a half smile, "I could go and come back if you want."

"No," he answered quickly, sitting back down. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up; I'd never seen that part of his body before. His tie was loosened and it made me wonder what he'd been doing before I interrupted. "I want you to stay." He watched me sit and then waited, assuming I came to actually talk to him about something.

I tried to get comfortable in the chair, after realizing this was an impossibility, I asked, "what are your glasses for?"

He fingered them self consciously, "reading. Things blur after a while if I don't use them." The quiet after his statement wasn't awkward, but I felt the pressure of it and tried to find something to fill the space.

"I couldn't sleep the last couple nights. Ever since…," I trailed off.

I felt his eyes moving over me, settling on my face. "I can tell. What's keeping you up?"

The most I was willing to admit to was bad dreams. Usually it was about James, he didn't say anything, but his expression wasn't hard to read. We were back in the vineyard and he would look at me in such a way, full of hurt and absolute betrayal that I'd find myself sitting up in bed most nights, trying not to wake Tanya with my murmured apologies. But the last couple of nights it wasn't James, it was Victoria. She'd leer at me with her striking face, the blame apparent in her expression. "It should have been you." She'd say.

And I couldn't stop thinking about her; she'd known James' name. How? She'd known what happened, that I was too much of a coward to follow him. I'd spent most of the weekend waiting for her, but she never showed. I was smart enough not to relax; she would show up the moment I let my guard down. Maybe that's what she was watching for.

I was so lost in thought, I hadn't noticed Edward come around his desk, almost close enough to touch.

* * *

The shadows around her eyes were heavy and dark; I had a feeling it was more than bad dreams, but I didn't ask. I had to work up my nerve to stand even though somewhere in my mind something else had taken over, something that told me the rules didn't apply anymore. I knew she wasn't here today for counseling, but that didn't mean I knew any more what to do. I looked at her again, then sat down on the floor, leaning my back on the desk. "I have more than an hour until my next appointment," I gestured to the couch. "You can try to sleep here if you'd like."

She stared at me expressionless and I thought about what I'd be willing to give to be able to read her mind. And then, without word, she stood up and moved to the couch. She lay on her side and stretched, I heard a faint sound of something popping; I stayed where I was, afraid my movement would keep her awake. She fell asleep fast and once I was sure of it, I stood, trying to keep myself from going over to her. I ignored the mounting paperwork on my desk, the lunch still in my fridge, and the soft breathing sounds of the beautiful girl on my couch. I went to the window behind my chair and stared out at all the choices I'd made, the direction this was going, and imposed over everything was her face, pale and tired in the grey of this place. Her eyes, mixed unhappiness and hopefulness and absolute trust; she was so willing for me, pliable. She didn't have to say so, it was written all over her.

Five minutes before my next patient was due, I knelt down beside Bella's face, deciding where to touch her. I almost couldn't do it. I licked my lips and ghosted my fingers over her bare arm; I noticed she'd stopped wearing that heavy sweater she usually favored. She looked like porcelain without it, too thin and breakable and still the most exquisite woman I'd ever seen up close. "Bella," I whispered, touching her again. She stirred slowly and turned onto her back, stretching like a cat, rubbing a hand softly over her face. I hadn't moved and she looked up at me, at once completely knowing and at ease, like this was the way it should be.

"Thanks," she said, making no move to get up. "Did you get caught up on any work?" I wondered if she'd noticed the higher than average stack of papers littering my desk.

"Yeah." She kept looking at me, like she knew gravity was moving; I felt off balance, all things shifting as they were around her. She tilted her head and lifted her hand; her fingers brushed a wayward strand of hair off my forehead. I lifted half my mouth in a smile; when was the last time I'd been touched like that? Maybe never. I'd lived a life before Bella, of course, gone through all the phases and transitions. But there was no phase for this. She kept her hand where it was, fingers woven in the hair at the back of my head.

Gravity.

I couldn't tell you if I pushed or she pulled, but that part didn't matter. I felt her breath for just a second before my mouth closed over hers, soft and yielding and warm and mine. It wasn't the first time that thought had entered my mind, and it wouldn't be the last. _Mine_. The kiss was chaste until I felt her pull me closer; I felt her tongue run along my bottom lip and I moaned, opening my mouth for her. She tasted sweet.

I heard a knock and I knew whoever it was could easily open the unlocked door and see us, but I didn't stop. And neither did Bella. I pulled her into a sitting position and then forward so I was between her legs, vaguely aware of the aching in my knees from the hard floors. I felt everything else though, her against me closer and closer and the way the very tips of my fingers had found the skin of her waist under her shirt.

I took her face in my hands and pressed my lips to hers in a final kiss before pulling back. Her face was bright and only slightly worried at the sound of the second knock. I brushed her hair back and stood her up; anyone with any sense whatsoever could guess at what we'd done, but I didn't care. I wanted to taste her again, but I knew if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop. So instead, I lifted the hand I was still holding to my mouth. At the last second, I turned it over and kissed her palm.

Neither of us said anything before she slipped out the door.


	14. Thirteen: Push, Pull

Author's Note: Hi lovelies, thanks for reading! This chapter is dedicated to you and to the obscenely gorgeous man with the very old fashioned name that works in my office and talked to me today.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Thirteen: Push, Pull

I said her name as if it were sustenance, the air I breathed. It was all my reasons and answers; it was in the choices I made. It was everything. For once I didn't know what was happening and I didn't care.

"Bella." I pressed into her further, at once pulling her hips toward me and pushing her back onto my desk. Push or pull, I still couldn't always tell who was doing which. I felt her legs wrap around me, her chest push against me, her kiss that was lips and tongue and warm and then teeth, dragging across the places she could reach. I groaned. "Fuck." She liked it I think, reducing me to single syllables and motions, showing her, touching her. She kept one hand in my hair and used the other to clutch at my shirt; and I liked it I think, feeling her hold onto me. So I leaned her back further just to feel her small hand tighten. When the new angle presented itself, I moved my mouth to her neck, that smell of flowers and something sweet was strongest there. I grazed my teeth over the spot at the bottom of her neck where it became her shoulder; she let out a small sound, breathed it really. My name.

"Edward."

I pulled her up and she smoothed her fingertips across my throat before fastening her lips there while I pushed my face into her hair. I could feel that the pace of her heart matched mine; I felt that if I listened closely enough, I would hear it, fluttering like bird's wings.

Very slowly, I began pulling back, kissing her temple, then her cheek, and then her lips. They were fuller and pink, wet. Because of me, because of what we'd done. I kissed her once, firm in it's finality. I'd already broken my time rule; we were supposed to stop before my next appointment. We were cutting it dangerously close, but it was Friday and I wouldn't see her again until the weekend was over; concessions had to be made. I touched my forehead to hers and ran my fingers down her arm until I connected with her hand.

"I hate this," she said, eyes closed.

I touched her chin with my free hand, tilting her head up. "What's the matter?" I waited for her eyes to open before I let go, settling that hand over hers on the desk.

"I'm not very good at goodbyes." There was a trace of sarcastic humor in her voice.

I leaned back just enough to look at her. "Don't think of it as goodbye."

She smiled wryly, "think of it as…see you later?" I chuckled and she tugged on my shirt, pulling me closer. I wrapped my arms around her middle and tucked in close, inhaling deeply. "Monday?" She asked.

I nodded into her hair and waited for her to say it.

"Blue," she said, touching my shirt collar, "like this color."

I helped her onto her feet and walked her to the door before we could be interrupted; she kissed me once more and grinned. "See you later."

I had kissed her for the first time on Monday, a few short days before. It didn't take long to be consumed and I knew we couldn't keep this up forever, but right then, I was in it. All the way. And when each moment with her was everything, how could I possibly think of all the other nothings?

Carlisle came to talk with me that afternoon. He asked about Bella's progress and I gave him just enough of the truth that I didn't feel so guilty about all my omissions. He smiled as he always did and shared stories about his research and I thought about how Esme must not have told him of her suspicions. Had I really swayed her so easily? He told me to have a good weekend and I wanted to ask what he was doing, but didn't.

I purposely waited until dinner time to make my last stop at the nurses' station before leaving, hoping to see Bella passing through on her way to the cafeteria. Not seeing her, I tried to satisfy myself on memories of the way she played with my shirt collar, the sounds she made when I kissed her, and her little smile when she told me she'd see me later.

I went home to wait for Monday.

It was something I never did, sleeping in on the weekends; it was impossible. My routine was so completely set that I didn't even need an alarm to wake up in the morning. But I found that getting up at my usual early hour made the day pass much more slowly, so Saturday night I took a sleeping pill, hoping that it would lull me into unconsciousness until at least nine or ten a.m.

I didn't dream like I had on Friday night, instead I slept hard and unmoving, swept completely under.

There was a noise coming from my nightstand, a buzzing. What time was it? Eyes closed against the morning light, I reached for it, hitting the answer button by memory. I cleared my throat, "hello?" I rolled onto my side and opened my eyes, looking for the clock, ten thirty; I rubbed my hand over my face and turned onto my back.

"Edward? It's Esme; I'm sorry to wake you, but there's a situation at the hospital."

I sat up, all grogginess gone while I listened to her speak. I was up and pulling on clothes before I was even off the phone. There wasn't time for a suit so I grabbed a pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt I usually went running in. I left my glasses on my nightstand, threw on my shoes, and left. Even my wallet was still on my dresser and I hoped somewhere in the back of my head that my speeding wouldn't attract police attention. _There's been an altercation; you need to come in_. Her voice was both eternally calm and rushed, nervous. Things like this didn't happen on her watch; she prided herself on being a safe harbor. For the both of us, this was intolerable and I'd be damned if I was going to let it go unpunished.

I parked and then ran into the hospital, making my way to Bella. They had her separated from the other patients, in an area usually reserved for those people that tended to injure themselves. They said she was alright, unusually quiet, and asking for me. I stopped outside the door to the sterile looking room; I knew she would hate being in there. Nurse Klein and Esme were waiting for me. "Has she said anything else?" I asked, impatient to speak with her myself. I looked through the small window in the door; Bella sat on the little bed, her legs hanging off the side. She pointed both feet, stretching, looking at the floor. To the untrained eye she looked almost bored. But I could see the way her hands clenched the sheets, the way it looked like she was trying to fold in on herself, disappear.

Esme stepped forward, "all she's said is that she wanted to see you. But she's more afraid than she's letting on."

"Where's Victoria?"

"Confined in the South Wing," Esme sighed. Victoria was difficult for all of us; we couldn't quite place her in any category. She had picked out Bella specifically to torment, but no one knew why. "You should go in; I don't know how much longer she'll keep quiet."

I could see the deep concern in her features, and the way she wanted to help everybody, even Victoria. I nodded to them both and watched until they left, heading to the intake office at the end of the hall. I let myself in and watched as Bella's head whipped in my direction, without hesitation she jumped off the bed and into my arms. I held her softly, not sure where all her injuries were. I could feel her shaking.

She mumbled into my shirt, "I'm not going to break," before tightening her grip.

I pulled her closer for another moment before letting go and guiding her back onto the bed. Her bottom lip was split, a tiny scab had formed there, and there were other marks too, on her neck. They looked like fingerprint bruises. I tilted her head in my hands, first back and then to either side. I let go and crossed my arms, my anger threatening to take over.

No one put their hands on Bella. "What happened?"

"I let my guard down," she shrugged.

I hated this, the way life had beaten her down so deeply she'd stopped trying. I waited for her to speak again.

"I skipped breakfast and she found me in my room. I think," she paused, searching her mind for something. "She must have known James, but I…I don't remember her. I have trouble sometimes, remembering things." Her brow creased and I let my arms relax, moving to lean on the bed next to her. "She says I killed him, that I should be the one that's dead," she shrugged again, like it was something she knew already.

I turned, facing her, "Bella, you didn't kill anybody; no one is dead because of you." She rolled her eyes so I grabbed her hand; I wanted to shake her. "Nothing is your fault; James was a very disturbed man. I don't think there was anything you could have done; he was -,"

She huffed quietly, "the only man that's ever loved me was disturbed."

I kept my voice low and I think I meant for her not to hear me. "Not the only man."

I glanced at the window in the door, willing it to remain empty and then kissed her, feeling the thrill that came from not just the feel of her, but the secret we had to keep in here. It was chaste and very light since I was afraid to hurt her, but she pushed back anyway and I had to muster the control to pull us apart. She looked at me, doe eyed and licking her lips and I almost came undone.

"I want to talk tomorrow, ok?" She asked it as if the worry I would say no was overwhelming. "I want…to know you," I could see a light blush rising in her cheeks.

I let my fingers graze over the warmth. "Anything, just promise me something, ok?" I waited for her to nod before continuing. "Don't wander by yourself…and don't stay in your room alone." I worried she would get angry with me, but she consented, absently running her fingertips over her bruised neck.

After leaving her in the care of Nurse Klein, I went to find Esme. She was waiting at the end of the hall with Carlisle; they were speaking in rushed whispers. I heard Victoria's name at least once. They greeted me quietly, arms crossed.

"I don't want Victoria near Bella ever again."

* * *

Author's Note: In case you haven't seen it, though I think most have, I have a new story up called Reality and Other Inconveniences; it's a little lighter in tone and despite some sadness, kinda funny.


	15. Fourteen: Notes From Underground

Author's Note: Hi my lovely readers, thanks for being here. Let's see...the playlist for this is updated (on my homepage) through chapter twelve, go have a listen.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Fourteen: Notes from Underground

I got the first note between checks Monday morning, but Tanya saw it slipped under the door and got to it before I even noticed it was there. She unfolded the small sheet of paper and frowned.

"What is it?" I closed my book in my lap and brought a hand up automatically to touch the fresh bruises on my neck, wishing I had some way to hide them. Of course, I could always put on James' sweater, but that felt like a betrayal in both directions.

She came over and sat on my bed, as was her habit. I was used to it by now, but something about the way a crease formed between her eyebrows, something so foreign on her typically serene face, made my stomach tense. "I…don't think this was for me." She sat the note on top of my book and left her hand in the air a moment as if she were reconsidering letting me read it. I looked down at the torn half sheet of paper.

_Little girl, did you really think you were his only one?_

Victoria.

Tanya's hand came down on my knee. "Don't let her do this to you, ignore it; she's crazy, Bella."

Something bubbled up from between the absolute trembling fear and the confusion surrounding the ever present '_why me_' and made me laugh. _She's crazy_. I covered my mouth quickly; the laughter sounded strange to my ears, like finding myself speaking fluently a language I'd never learned. "Look at where we are, Tanya," I said once I lowered my hand to the paper, all trace of humor gone.

She blushed; it was pretty on her creamy skin. "You know what I mean."

She didn't look down though she was clearly embarrassed; she never did. Tanya's head was always held high, despite whatever happened to put her here; she said she regretted none of her transgressions. But she also never mentioned them. While I sat on my bed, trying to press thoughts out of my mind, Tanya pulled the note from under my hand. "Here," she said, ripping it in half. "She can't get to you anymore." She ripped it in half again and then once more.

I wasn't so sure about Tanya's statement. True, Victoria was still in the South Wing, or "Solitary Confinement" as people called it when the doctors weren't around, but that didn't mean she couldn't get to me. She already had. "Who do you think slipped it under the door?" I asked absently.

Tanya let herself fall back onto my bed and stared at the ceiling, running her fingertips over a small section of skin that showed below her shirt hem. "She has a way of getting you to do things," she made it sound not at all unpleasant. But then the crease formed between her brows again and she turned onto her side. She spoke in a rush, "I wouldn't do anything for her though, you know that, right?" Her worry was sincere, like her life's happiness depended on my answer.

"I know you wouldn't."

She smiled in blatant relief.

I didn't tell Edward about the note; flashing back to the way he'd looked at me the day before in that sterile room, I just couldn't. I didn't want him to think he couldn't protect me.

Besides, this was his day for talking. I sat in his chair and looked out his window and inside his refrigerator and asked him questions about his life before me.

"I had no life before you." He sat, relaxed, his legs stretched out in front of him. His expression challenged me to say something about his statement.

I learned he liked cream in his coffee, running in the evening, and doing the newspaper's crossword in pen. "What if you make a mistake?" I asked.

His lips twitched, "I'm always sure before I write it down."

He liked to sleep on his stomach, hated going to the movies, and wanted to be Batman when he was a child.

"That wasn't a respectable enough career prospect for my father," he commented, unsuccessfully hiding the slightest trace of true bitterness.

"So you became a doctor."

He nodded, "so I became a doctor."

He had his first kiss at fourteen to a girl with braces, ran cross country in high school, and was cheated on his senior year. He grinned, "she went for the quarterback."

I stood up and moved to stand between his knees. "That is such a cliché."

Edward's hands ran up the outside of my thighs and he sat straighter, closer. If it weren't for my t-shirt, I'd be able to feel his breath on my stomach. His hands moved up further, to my hips and then higher, under my hem and to my waist. The contact made my breath catch in my throat; _this was new_. His hands were slow, but not tentative, tracing a path like highway markings on a map; they were definite and sure and more than a little territorial. It started at my bottom rib on either side and headed south, moving in at the waist, ghosting out, and then moving in again, thumbs brushing across the small indentations near my hips that led down into my jeans. I kept a hand in his hair, trying to show him I was willing. His forehead rested against me as one hand moved to my wrist while the other stayed firmly in place. His voice was muffled. "My next appointment is in five minutes."

And just like that our private island was gone.

He exhaled and sat back in the chair, pulling me onto his lap. I curled my legs up and ran my fingertips up his neck and back into his hair. He kissed me once, chaste, but stayed close enough that I could almost still feel his mouth. I knew that he was thinking about the cut on my lip, our mutual failing – his in preventing it in the first place, which was ridiculous, and mine in not being strong enough to defend myself. His eyes closed and I felt his hand lift and motion out toward something. His words sounded the way I imagine pain would sound if you could hear it, "...I'd give it all up…," he held still a moment before kissing me again; his arms grasping hard, like I wouldn't be there when he opened his eyes. I responded with equal fervor, afraid of the same thing.

_Any other time and place_.

I think we both wished for that.

"Blue again," I said when we parted. "But almost teal, like the ocean." He knew what I meant, our private island.

That night I fell asleep before Tanya, which was strange because she was on Valium. I know I dreamed, but it was like trying to find details in a painting that's under water. There was nothing steady, the whole picture rocked back and forth with one ripple after another until the only thing I remembered was the color red. It was there, and then it wasn't. And then I was in the water too, letting it's movements take me to anywhere else.

"Bella."

I let myself sink, hoping it would muffle the sound.

"Bella." This time there was shaking.

I inhaled quickly and opened my eyes. "What is it?" I sat up, trying to orient myself. It was never fully dark in this place, there were lights outside, lights in the halls, doors opening to the stark brightness for checks. So unlike the place I'd just been in my dream.

"You were having a nightmare." Her cool hand was on my cheek and I realized I was sweating.

I thought back to the feeling of water, of how it felt to go under. I remembered the red. "I don't…," I wanted to say the word 'remember', but something about it all seemed familiar, like a memory. I ignored Tanya's concern and thought back, pulling out the details I hadn't seen until now.

It was the first week of October in Sonoma and the leaves were vibrant in the end of their lifecycle. Everything was color – orange, red, green, yellow. People that grew their own pumpkins already had them displayed on porches alongside scarecrows and autumn wreaths. Nobody raked their yards. This way my favorite time.

I was off work early and taking a slow walk toward a park where I was meeting James for lunch. I smiled to myself and wrapped my sweater more tightly around me; I adjusted my little canvas bag of food, switching it from one shoulder to the other. I stepped off the sidewalk at the entrance and moved toward the modest pond that dominated the grassy space, tempted to skim my hand over the top. It had an island in the middle, no wider than a closet, but covered in small trees; their leaves slipped soundlessly into the water below. I watched as they left only the slightest of ripples.

It was around that time I heard the voices, James and someone else. I perked up, eager to sit with him and listen to stories about his day; I turned my face to look for him. That was when I saw the red through the trees; she was across the pond, the other voice I had heard. I took a few steps to the left, something inside telling me to wait, not to walk right up to them. I leaned forward, struggling to listen, but couldn't make out any words. So instead, I watched them. She looked angry, but not in the way a friend or a relative might be angry with him, but in another way. James looked calm, placating. He touched her.

I felt the breeze ruffle my hair back off my shoulders. It was an innocent touch, but I had never seen him be anything more than what polite society absolutely dictated in public and I had _never_ seen him touch anyone else. The woman took a step forward, tucking back a strand of her red hair; she looked softened by the contact. After another few words, she turned, walking away from the both of us. I breathed, pushing what I saw into a dark corner of my mind, and when I stepped out further and James saw me, my bright smile was genuine.


	16. Fifteen: Timebomb

Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone for reading; you guys are awesome. So, I get tons of questions and pretty much all of them will get answered eventually, but there was one for the last chapter I wanted to answer now. Basically, the question was, is Edward still counseling Bella? No, he isn't (wicked grin) and that's all I'm going to say.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

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Fifteen: Timebomb

A week had passed and Victoria was back from the South Wing, but she was no longer left alone. I remembered that from my first few days in the hospital. A nurse now accompanied her everywhere, to the cafeteria, to the bathroom; the only time Victoria was without her was during therapy. Her expression was different as well; she didn't look me in the eye when we passed each other. She kept her distance. I wondered what happened during that week away.

Until more paper was slipped under the door. One for each day she was gone, brief but unrelenting.

Nothing had really happened to her, nothing that would change her anyway. I realized it was an act, the repentant patient, quiet, unassuming, and lying through her teeth. I couldn't sleep at night again; I kept my guard up, waited for her. With all the free time I had during the day, I remembered more.

James started talking about rules after that day I saw him with Victoria in the park; he talked about social constructs and how they were designed based solely out of fear of the unknown. He believed in a certain kind of lawlessness and openness and I saw now that those axioms were made to suit himself. I was angry. At him, for making me believe a lie, and at myself, for wanting to believe even now that I was mistaken.

He had been my reason, my life, and my religion; it wasn't so easy to push that aside.

I held Victoria's notes in my hands, crumbled shreds of paper that were destroying everything I'd kept so close to me. I spread them out on my bed.

_I saw you with him; I saw how he wished it was me._

_Did you really believe you were enough for him?_

_He never loved you._

I grabbed them, tore them apart like I should have from the beginning until they floated across my bed like snow. But that wasn't enough; I couldn't stand to be near the words that I wanted desperately to pretend I didn't read. So I swept them up, every single piece, and carried her hate crushed between my fingers until I reached the bathroom. I opened my hands over the toilet and watched the scraps fall in, making sure ever last bit touched the water before I flushed it down. I blinked back tears and felt not even mildly better.

Back in my room, I laid down on the bed, waiting for my time with Edward. When it was us and our island and his touch and my skin, nothing else mattered. He saw something in me even I couldn't see. He wanted something for me, and I think possibly for _us_. I had to believe he was looking for a way.

I sat up when Tanya walked in, thinking it was Hatchet. She sat on my bed despite my expression and picked at her nails; I couldn't tell if she was waiting for me to say something or not. "I meant to mention it days ago," she said after a moment, "I like your watch."

I looked down and ran two fingers over the face, fifteen more minutes. "Thanks."

"Was it a gift?" She asked, merely curious.

I leaned back against my pillow, trying to ease the automatic tightening of my nerves. There was nothing to worry about, we were being careful, weren't we? "Yeah."

"It looks like a men's watch." She looked at me as she spoke, carefully, watching my response.

_Oh my God, she knows._

I couldn't meet her eyes. "It is."

"Strange gift for a woman, don't you think?" Tanya leaned her weight onto one hand; she spoke lightly, but with definite direction.

I shrugged, feeling a hole opening in my chest. We would be separated; I wasn't even sure what might happen to Edward. I wouldn't see him again. Just the notion left me gasping. If Tanya noticed, she didn't say anything.

"It's romantic though; he took it right off his wrist and put it on you, didn't he?" Her eyes softened at the thought and she smiled.

I touched my wrist, remembering the way it felt when Edward touched me, not a quick burn, but a slow build-up toward searing.

"It was him, wasn't it," she didn't say it like a question. "Dr. Masen." Her voice was a soft and gentle prodding.

I felt like my heart had stopped beating and conversely, my breathing sped. How could I say goodbye to him? What would happen to us? What would happen to him? "What, why…would you say something like that?" Eyes downcast, brow furrowed, the picture of honest confusion; I tried to lie though I was never good at it.

I couldn't say how she was looking at me, but it sounded like there was a smile in her voice. "It wasn't hard to guess." She scooted forward, past socially acceptable barriers until the thought passed in my mind that she could kiss me if she wanted. "I heard him, that day Victoria grabbed you in the hall; he said -,"

"I remember what he said."

_What are you doing to me?_

In a voice that was lust and longing and desperation, he'd said it to me in lieu of a goodbye when he walked me to my room and Tanya had been right on the other side of the door. This time my heart sped and my breathing stopped. She reached a hand out and touched my knee; I flinched. "Bella, if I was going to tell someone, I would have done it by now."

I looked up, unsure of what she was seeing in my face. I kept silent.

"It's good, I think. To have someone that wants you like that." Her eyes seemed to glaze, reliving some memory.

There was the sound of a knock and an opening door. "It's time, Isabella."

There was no way I could fit any of this together; it was like trying to combine someone else's life with my own. It just didn't work so instead I followed Hatchet, feeling raw and much too open, to the one place where everything fell in line. She waited until the obligatory "come in" before she backed up.

Edward was around his desk before I had the door closed. I would have been pinned against it except that he wasn't touching me; he was just, looking. Fading bruises, tired eyes, pallid skin; I never knew what he saw in me when he did this. I felt the barest hint of his hand as he brought it up near my face and I waited, let him have control, hoped he saw something good. When he looked at me this way it made me feel like the person I always wished I was.

I remembered something I'd thought about Tanya after I first met her that I was now thinking about myself – _touch me, I'll let you do whatever you want._ I watched him watch me, unafraid to meet his eyes; there was a strange look there, like he was hardly in any more control than I was. His expression changed from searching to dark, possessive, and claiming. Finally, he pressed closer, until there was no space between us. I closed my eyes and felt his mouth linger on mine, just far enough away that you wouldn't call it a kiss. The air crackled between us. "I missed you," he breathed.

I licked my lips just as his mouth came down on mine; I felt his tongue and tasted all the other things he could say but didn't because there was no need. In moments like these, I knew them already. I felt his hands wander under my shirt to the small space on my back he had discovered the week prior; he traced those invisible map lines, north to south, east to west; he lingered. Edward could drive them in his sleep. His body came impossibly closer and I knew it would be one of those days where we never got into any coherent conversation. And then there was the smallest adjustment, his hands pressing and moving me just so and everything fell in line and we were alright and together on our island and I felt that gradual build of heat that was not from the sun at all. And all I could hear was the sometimes parting of our lips, coming up for air before crashing under the waves again; we let it ebb and flow, back and forth and over and through until we were dizzy with it.

By the end of the hour we'd made it away from the door; I rested, my back against his chest, as we both stared up toward the ceiling. He stretched one long leg off the couch, foot flat on the floor. "Green, like jade," I said, lazily.

"Hmm?" He sounded like he might have been falling asleep.

"My color." I knew it probably wasn't important to him, but it was all these tiny nothings strung together that kept me moving from day to day.

I felt him hum underneath me; he moved a hand up my middle and settled it near my collarbone. His fingers traced it as he asked, "why green?"

Before I could respond, there was an abrupt knock on the door. I sat up fast, and then moved out from between his legs, attempting to compose myself. This was how it was for us, together and then just as quickly, apart. Edward stood up and kissed me, brushing back a wayward strand of hair.

And then the door opened.

I pushed back quickly and sat back down on the couch, as if we'd been in a real session; Edward sat on the edge of his desk, hardly casual, but hopefully good enough to fool whoever was out there. He gave me a sad grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. I hated this part.

I thought about how Edward had held me and kissed me as we traveled past that point of no return and I knew he was well aware of what might happen, but sometimes I thought that maybe he would really give it all up for me. That one day he would walk away from everything, that I was worth it. But I only thought that when we were alone.

I tried to ease the sudden nerves that came from nearly being found out as Hatchet stepped into the doorway with the next patient. She looked between us with those eyes that were able to pick up the slightest waver in manner and emotion. "Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Masen," she said, her eyes darting from me to him once more before taking a step back to allow me to pass through. I was afraid to spare Edward even a glance as I hurried by.

On the way back, I could feel Hatchet's gaze though she didn't say anything; she wasn't the type.

That night, some barrier collapsed around the part of me that didn't like thinking about my mother when I was alone. It was weak to begin with, but had held fast for years and now without it, things drifted in without consent.

Her funeral was on a Tuesday, a rainy one. I didn't have a black dress so I wore grey pants that belonged to my friend from down the street; they were too big, but I didn't say anything. My mother was put in her favorite blue dress; her best friend tried to put her in this ugly black suit, but I wouldn't let her.

By the time we were at the graveside, I was certain my borrowed slacks were ruined. The hems were caked in grass and mud because of the rain and I became overwhelmed with the need to wash them. Even as we stood in the front row with our wilting roses, I tugged on my father's sleeve, begging him to let me walk home. I spoke in a low, pathetically pleading voice; I was terrified that my friend would see how I ruined the pants and hate me. I didn't hear the pastor or look at the casket or even notice the way people stared. Instead I watched my father try to ignore me and when he couldn't anymore, he looked down, furious, "Isabella, _stop!_"

I didn't say anything after that.


	17. Sixteen: The Best Intentions

Author's Note: Hi, thank you as always and I must say, the reviews you guys leave are completely brilliant and insightful. I'm so happy that you can see the shades of grey and different sides of this story; it makes my day.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

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Sixteen: The Best Intentions

I never meant for any of this to happen. It was a prolonged lapse in judgment due in large part to my personal dissatisfaction with my own life; if it had been even a year earlier, none of this would have happened.

Those were the kinds of things they wanted to hear – that I didn't mean it, that I was humbled by the experience and that if I had it to do over, things would have gone completely differently. And maybe I'd be able to say those things and maybe I wouldn't, but let me lay down the truth and you can think what you want.

I wouldn't change a single second because all of those things I should regret, those are what brought me to her. And though I couldn't ever really know for sure, I would say all those ways we came to hurt each other later, maybe they were necessary.

Bella was not doing well, there was something coming apart inside her that she wouldn't talk about. It made her uncomfortable to confess things to me now; I think she felt like that would roll us backward into the doctor/patient relationship again, though we were so far past that. Regardless, we talked, but not about the things we should have. And I couldn't read her like I wanted to because all those looks she gave elicited responses from me that got in the way, so I just let her be. But I worried for her; she seemed, I wasn't sure exactly, scared maybe, but I didn't know of what. I wanted to know, but more than that, I wanted to keep her safe.

I had developed a habit over the course of the last few weeks of going down to the nurses' station on Bella's unit in the early evening before I went home. I didn't always see her and had a feeling she spent a lot of time in her room, but I did it anyway. It was like gambling, would she be there? How would she look? How close could I get without arousing suspicion? But I always had a reason, no matter how thin, to be there. And on that night, that last night, I was there with Carlisle and Esme like so many times before.

Victoria was in the dayroom with her nurse and so was Bella. Patients were only allowed to spend so much time in their rooms before they were forced to come out and be among others. Usually I agreed, but not on this occasion; something ongoing was happening between the two and they weren't sharing what it was. I tried to be a part of the conversation around me, but found the static of so many voices impossible to listen to. Carlisle laughed at something and I watched Bella read a book near the window. I watched her flip pages for a while and then stop, like she was pretending to read, but really was concentrating on something else. I thought it might have been because I was there until I saw Victoria staring, like a cat with a bird in it's sights.

"So, what do you think, Edward?" Esme's voice rose up over the din of my thoughts.

My attention came back slowly, "I'm sorry, what did you say?" I glanced over her shoulder, Victoria's nurse was reading, oblivious to whatever silent battle was going on.

"It's that time of day, isn't it?" She said good naturedly, referring no doubt to my lack of focus. "I asked if you'd like to come over for dinner tomorrow." Tomorrow was Saturday.

I looked at her. "Oh," I replied, "sure, I'd like that." She started talking to me then and I tried to relax; Carlisle was already watching me like something might be wrong. Was anything wrong? I couldn't say for sure besides the unnerving feeling in the back of my mind. After a few perfunctory replies by me, Carlisle started talking and I had to look him in the eye in order to catch everything. I was so focused on remaining focused that I didn't notice Esme's attention waning, but I did notice when she turned around. Carlisle and I turned to see what she was looking at.

Victoria had changed seats so she was closer to Bella, not close enough to touch, but to be heard. Which, in her case, could be much more dangerous.

"It's ok," Esme whispered to herself. She turned back around. "Well," she said, with relief that wasn't entirely honest, "I'm ready to start the weekend." She looked up at Carlisle, who slipped his fingers down the inside of her arm, stopping at her hand.

"Alright, have a good evening; we'll see you tomorrow night." Carlisle seemed distracted; I wondered if he was thinking about Victoria too.

"Good night," I nodded toward them. I didn't want to leave; I couldn't, yet. I watched Carlisle leading Esme past the dayroom, thinking that I wouldn't be able to be in their home, sit at their table, with the weight of everything I was doing on my shoulders.

I was just thinking that I would have to cancel when I heard Bella's tear choked voice cry out. "Stop it!"

Before I could think about it, I was moving toward her. There was a mass of people now, like they'd taken sides. Victoria, with her nurse standing sentinel and aggravated in front of her, spoke in a cruel voice that I couldn't quite hear. She never reached out or lost control; she was calm, calculated. She had finally figured out a way through Bella's defenses. Another girl, a tiny blonde, stood too close to Bella. She shrunk away from the small girl, her book pressed tight against her chest, a feeble attempt at protection. The nurse lost her patience and grabbed Victoria, "that's _enough_!" She looked up for help. Carlisle and Esme were jogging over and then there was yet another person surrounding Bella. I recognized her, Tanya, as a friend. Victoria was still talking like there was no one else around while the nurse tried pulling her up by the arm.

More girls came then; they stood closer to watch, listen. I ran into the fray and thought about the first morning Bella was here, how afraid she was of everyone surrounding her. She had completely fallen apart; I recognized that look as the one I was seeing now. I moved through the growing crowd of nurses and patients to pull Bella out.

I heard Esme's strong voice, fierce over the excited chatter. "Everyone _back up_!" I didn't turn to look, but could hear that she was physically pushing people out of the way. But it was like moving through water, as soon as you were through it closed up again. Patients watched with bright eyes, the more fragile amongst them getting worked up over the action. They yelled, some thought they were helping.

I grabbed for Bella, but she pulled away; her arms went around her knees, her face pressed into them. I knelt down and touched her again, more slowly this time. She looked up, just enough to see me. Her eyes were red, her body shaking. She didn't speak.

More noise behind me. Carlisle was trying to pull Victoria away. People grabbed at my coat, one very firmly. I glanced up; Victoria was smiling at me, pleased at the riot she'd started. Nurses worked on frantic patients; I saw needles being pushed into skin.

I yanked my arm back.

"Get her out of here." Esme spoke near me and at first I thought she meant Victoria, but when I looked in her direction, I saw that she was talking to me.

I looked at Bella again; her eyes were empty. She was somewhere very far away. "Bella, sweetheart, look at me." I tried to soothe her through my anger. I was going to take her to her room, stay with her for a while.

I had the best intentions.

A frightened patient bumped her chair, trying to fight the sedative; she fell toward Bella.

"No." It was the first thing she'd said since I got there. She looked up at me, her eyes focusing, but I wasn't sure if it was really me she was seeing. Her eyes watered, she blinked and looked at me again. "Edward," she grabbed my coat.

I stood her up and she wrapped her arms around my middle; I let her. I put an arm around her shoulder and she pressed her whole body into my side. Around us there was shouting, people trying to get everyone under control, but we were short staffed tonight. She held on tighter.

Esme was a few feet away with a male nurse; they were picking up a patient that had thrown herself to the ground. She nodded and motioned for me to take Bella.

"Don't look at them," I ordered quietly. I felt her nod against my chest. I led her down the corridor, away from everyone.

I heard a gentle voice call out Bella's name, the soft patter of feet down the hallway. Bella's hands pressed into my sides. "Are you ok?" The voice asked, coming closer.

"Go to your room." I didn't turn to see who it was.

"I'm in the same room as her, I'll go with you."

Tanya. I sighed and kept walking. When I got to the door, I reached out to grab the knob, but Bella's hand shot out and grabbed mine, stopping me.

Her voice shook. "I don't want to go in there."

I took a step back from the door; I wasn't sure where else I could take her where she could be alone.

Tanya stood next to me; I kept my eyes lowered.

"If you go now, they won't see you."

I looked at her and she nodded.

Could I do it?

It was a Friday night and a lingering summer storm held fast over the city of Los Angeles. The news people were predicting two inches of rain through the night and flash floods; Malibu was preparing for mud slides. It was the most rain L.A. had seen during the month of July in almost twenty years. People forgot how to drive in the rain; they moved too slow or much too fast, caused accidents. There would be two weather related car accidents on the Pacific Coast Highway before dawn.

Bella and I saw the remnants of one as we left the city.


	18. Seventeen: Are You In?

Author's Note: Thanks for reading. I feel kinda bad, this has been ready to go since Friday, but the site wasn't letting me upload anything. Anyway, better late than never. There are a couple of page breaks in this one to watch out for.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

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Seventeen: Are You In?

It was almost ten by the time Carlisle and Esme got home; they leaned on each other on the short walk from the garage through the house and into their bedroom. They were getting too old for fourteen hour days.

Esme, deciding to forgo a shower, pulled off her scrubs in the unlit room and got into bed. That night had been one of the most out of control in her entire twenty year career and she knew Victoria had picked that particular night, the moment when the shifts changed, during a time when the hospital was short staffed, to pull everything off. As much as she was loathe to think it, Esme thought Victoria was downright bad, all the way inside. There was no light in that girl, no matter how hard people tried to bring it out. And she had selected Bella, for reasons still unknown to her.

Bella, who was fragile and trying so hard to hold on to the broken pieces of her life. Esme had heard the stories; she felt for the girl, more than she usually did for a patient. She had taken it upon herself to watch over her and tonight had proven that she wasn't doing enough. Esme vowed to herself in that dark bedroom to do right by Bella; the girl deserved more people in her corner. She would make it better for her; she wouldn't let her get hurt again.

Carlisle came in from the bathroom and opened the bedroom window. He knew how the sound of the ocean helped Esme fall asleep. She smiled to herself at the little gesture. He crawled into bed and made a small sigh of pleasure against the back of her neck when he realized she hadn't put on her usual flannel pajamas. He curled himself around her body and she leaned back, tilting her head for a kiss good night. He pressed on her shoulder softly until she lay on her back, and then positioned himself over the top of her. Esme noticed his eyes light up and it reminded her of their time in college together, that same expression would touch his features more often then. The thought struck her that she would never tire of him; her arms went around his neck and pulled down tightly, letting him sink into her. He knew her body, where to touch and how hard, for how long, and still it was new. He pulled back for minute, like he always did, to just look at her, like he always did.

It was at that same time one of the pagers on the nightstand sounded, a harsh and incessant interruption in the dark. A second later, the other pager went off as well. Carlisle reached over and turned them both off, peering at the glowing screens. "911," he mumbled, hovering over her. The bed was warm; she was warm. He buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Esme sighed, "it's always 911." She scratched the back of his head and reached with her other hand to the cell phone on the nightstand. She called the number for her unit's nurses' station; they answered after the first ring. Carlisle rolled onto his side and watched her. "This is Nurse Cullen returning a page," she started. She sat up straight, listening to the urgent voice on the other end. "What time?...It's almost eleven now, why did it take an hour for you to get a hold of us?...We're on our way." She swung her legs out from under the covers and then stopped, leaning her elbows on her knees, her face covered by her hands.

Carlisle reached over and touched her back; she was shaking. "What is it?"

"We need to get to the hospital."

* * *

I drove; we didn't speak. I don't think Bella could if she'd wanted to.

She stared out the window and I tried to tell myself that what I was feeling wasn't fear, but I couldn't help but wonder if Bella even knew what was happening. She was quiet for a long time. I watched the exit signs; they all pointed backward.

After a while, I felt her feather light touch on my arm and when I glanced over; she was the Bella I recognized, at least mostly.

She lowered her hand. "Where do you bank at?"

I told her and then asked why, though I had a feeling I knew already; I felt the current of hope, the rushing sound covering most rational thought.

"Did you know you can pull out five hundred dollars per day without having a hold put on it first? I mean, in case they tried to track…," she looked timid and ashamed to be mentioning it; to her, it was the same as outright asking for money. She backtracked, "sorry, I just…if you…sorry." Her hands were held tightly together and I saw her offering without her having to verbalize it. She wanted to stay with me; she wanted me to stay with her.

I couldn't take her back there now.

I stopped, found an ATM, pulled out money. I felt that strange familiar thrill course through me.

When Bella started falling asleep, I pulled off the highway and found a motel; I parked in front of the office so she could see me inside if she woke up. I looked around, expecting Carlisle to step into the light. But then I remembered something I'd learned from him during the few years I'd been at the hospital. If it came down to it, they would wait for me to come back.

Because above even the patients, was one thing. Reputation. I got us a room.

I led Bella up the stairs and down the hallway, using the card to unlock the door. Inside, we left the lights off; the bed took up most of the space. She yawned and sat down, toeing off her shoes. I stepped closer, "I can sleep on the-,"

"Don't you dare," was all she said. I let her tug on my belt loops until she'd pulled me down next to her. I still wondered if this was really her or some mirror image, almost the same, but distorted and flipped the wrong way. "What time is it?" She squinted at the clock on the nightstand, which didn't have the right time anyway.

"Ten o'clock."

"Checks." She said to herself.

"Don't think about it."

"Where are we?"

"Santa Barbara."

She faced me, looking anxious. "That's not far enough," she grabbed for my arm. "What if -,"

"They won't."

"But -,"

"They won't," I paused, trying to gather my thoughts and at the same time, trying to push them away. "They'll want to keep things…discreet."

"Police?"

"I don't think so; I didn't…kidnap -,"

"Don't even think it."

We both stared at the window, the heavy curtains letting in the tiniest amount of artificial light around the edges; I could smell the rain even in the closed up space. I felt her take my hand and squeeze.

"Where do you want to go?" I asked.

She didn't answer right away and I found myself lost in a purgatory of waiting and listening for the sound of the ocean outside, though we were just slightly out of range and wouldn't be able to hear above the downpour anyway. "Let's just drive."

We slept that night in our clothes; I was too painfully conscious of our situation to suggest otherwise. Despite everything, I slept hard, pulled deep under to a place even dreams couldn't get to.

When I woke up that morning, I could tell Bella was staring at me even though my eyes were still closed. "Good morning," I mumbled into my pillow, still lost in that place of quiet before the memories found you. And then I remembered, but I wanted Bella more.

The bed dipped as she slid closer, her body soft and warm in a way that made me want to touch her everywhere. We'd never been alone. I had this new feeling, something that was telling me this was the beginning of something.

The ending of something.

She played with one of the buttons on my shirt, tracing it. "Did you take anything off at all?"

"My tie."

She made a small, amused sound.

"And my belt."

She laid on top of me. "Shoes?"

I nodded, "those too." She adjusted her legs and I began losing my train of thought until it was just words like _want _and _mine_. And then her stomach growled and she bit her lip and I was reminded of her innocence, but it just made the words in my mind stronger. I grabbed her around the middle and flipped us over, enjoying her sound of surprise; she ran her hands through my hair and tugged and it felt so good I would have let her do whatever she wanted.

When she loosened her grip, I thought about doing whatever I wanted.

I tugged on the waistband of her jeans and waited for her reaction.

She nodded, a smile on her lips and a look in her eyes I couldn't resist. I made my own slow path down her body, enjoying detours along her neck and sides; she was ticklish just underneath her ribs. She let me push her t-shirt up enough to expose a sliver of stomach; I pressed my fingers into her waist and then pushed up onto my elbows.

I gave her a look, the only time I'd ever ask.

_Are you in? _

She smiled again, that nearly hidden mischievous light in her eyes that I'd come to know.

I slipped under the bedspread and out of her view. Her fingers brushed through my hair while I undid the button of her jeans and pulled down the zipper; I felt her breathing speed up. I nipped at the new skin, tasting, before beginning the slow work of sliding them down her body; I wanted her to know. And she let me. I finished the unhurried descent down to her feet.

Bella kicked back the bedspread once her legs were free and sat up to pull me back on top of her. I tried to hold my weight off of her, but I think she liked it, so I relented. Not all the way, but enough so she could feel it. We kissed and for a split second I tried to remember the last time I kissed someone like that and then decided it didn't matter.

There were no more yesterdays.

* * *

Everyone was on equal footing for the search. Doctors, nurses, and staff checked on patients in their rooms; they made sure to see each face, no matter if they were asleep or not. No one said anything.

They looked all night.

Carlisle waited in his office, like a captain on a sinking ship. He drummed his fingertips on his desk pad, stared at the phone, stared at the files he'd procured from Edward's office. Bella Swan's file was on top; he'd read it through again and again. Not looking for something to explain this, but looking for something to exonerate Edward. There was nothing there; the file was perfect in it's professionalism. So much so that it didn't seem right; personal opinions did tend to make themselves known after a time although everyone tried to avoid it. But not in this file; it was almost incriminating in it's objectiveness. Compared to some of his others, this one looked fake.

He set his hands over the top of it, holding everything steady until he received word from Esme.

Outside the window behind him, it was nearly dawn, the dim purple light almost grey through the cloud cover. Inside, the lights were off.

Carlisle waited.

The morning had lightened to a solid grey by the time Esme walked in. He didn't want to see her face and read the truth before she had the time to speak it. He stared at the files.

She came to stand on his side of the desk. "They're gone."

"Are you sure?" He said it to be thorough, not because he thought they might find them if they searched longer. Edward's car wasn't there; Carlisle had seen the empty space himself. And still he believed there was some other explanation. That's why he ordered the search.

She reached out, but didn't touch him. "It's time…make the call."

"We don't know for sure, something might have happened." He held onto the variables, to the possibility that this was all a mistake. It had to be.

"Make the call, he deserves to know." She touched him now, softly. "He's your friend Carlisle, this is his daughter."

He rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, long since giving up looking put together. "I know."

He felt the stinging of betrayal working it's way in; he had put his trust in someone and in the doctrine of the hospital. Edward had deceived them, had turned his back on everything Carlisle had believed in and run.

He looked at the files again, frustration boiling over, and with both hands, shoved them off his desk.

* * *

Author's Note: No, in case you're wondering, Bella and Edward did not have sex (or anything of the kind). When they do, you'll _definitely_ know.


	19. Eighteen: Clean Again

Author's Note: So yeah, you guys pretty much rule. Changing points of view in this chapter.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Eighteen: Clean Again

We took turns showering that morning, using the little motel soaps that were almost too small to share. It was around then that we realized this wasn't going to work without new provisions. I changed back into the only clothes I had and then watched Edward debate something internally before slipping on his white t-shirt and slacks. He held his button-down, pressing wrinkles into it from his fingers.

After checking out of the motel, he made a stop for clothes and some other things; we rushed through like we were being timed, hopping back in the car as fast as possible, embarrassingly winded. He tossed the bags into the backseat and then started the engine before his door was completely shut. I was equally anxious.

But, I was also just barely making the realization that I was free and this running, rushing, looking over my shoulder was not the way I wanted to spend it.

_My time_.

It was completely foreign and delicious as I tested the words.

I didn't have to wait for someone to tell me when to go to bed, no one to schedule when I ate or showered, no one flashing a light in my face in the middle of the night to make sure I was there and alive. I could have laces in my shoes again, I could go up for seconds at dinner, trim my nails without asking permission first. No one would follow me into the bathroom or slip notes under my door to tell me how the last few years of my life had been an absolute lie.

I could walk outside without the ever suspicious and watchful eyes on me. I could open all the windows and taste the air and smell the ocean.

Edward reached over the center console and touched my hand; I felt a tear run down my face. He glanced over as we slowed at an intersection.

I answered before he asked. "I'm so…happy," I smiled at the inadequacy of the sentence, unable to think of enough words. I squeezed his hand, wishing there was a way for him to see the things I didn't know how to say. He brought our hands up as he accelerated, kissing the back of my fingers and then setting them on his thigh. I wished that there wasn't a console in my way so that I could sit closer, press into his side. "Gold," I said, looking through the windshield. "Like the sun in the afternoon."

I rested my head back, thinking about some things for the first time. I wanted us to drive near the water, so I could see it. I wanted to swim and feel sand under my feet and hear the gulls on the shore. I wanted to see places I'd never been, stop in towns because they had interesting names and take pictures next to their welcome signs. I wanted to hold Edward's hand in public and share an ice cream with him as we strolled down the boardwalk in the evening. I wanted to take my time. I wanted to be with him; I was ready.

There was a sandwich board at the corner we were stopped at advertising some kind of market; the arrow pointed left, toward the beach.

"Wait," I sat up suddenly, startling him. He looked at me and I pointed. "Can we stop at that?"

He glanced between the sign and me, a grin raising his tired features. I stared back, thinking the light stubble on his face made him look even more handsome. A strange thought occurred to me that he was a man, a real man, grown and solid and he wanted to be with me. For reasons I might never understand, but had long since stopped questioning.

We found a parking spot on the street and I helped him dig through compartments for quarters to put in the meter. Our hands brushed near the cup holder and I smiled at the live wire feeling it produced in my stomach. I don't know if he felt it too, but he did lean over and kiss me after. His mouth lingered long enough that I felt him smile against me. I pushed forward before he could pull away, pressing my lips to his a final time before we got out of the car.

The long path of grass next to the beach was bustling with people. Vendors sold everything, photography, handmade things, clothing, food; my eyes immediately found the books, but I wanted to see everything else too. We fell in line at one end, near a homeless girl holding an empty cup. She sat in the background against a tall palm, self consciously pushing hair behind her ears. I trotted over, handed her the extra quarters from my pocket. She smiled. I felt for a moment that she could be me.

Edward draped his arm over my shoulders and I reached up to take his hand when we started walking. He kissed my temple and I had that feeling again like I might cry. _This is it, this is exactly right. _

We walked slowly, like time was just some peculiar thing that other people worried about.

Edward seemed to be taken by some of the photos, Ansel Adams style prints of towering mountains, the low hills of the desert, quiet towns, and turbulent seas, taken at almost impossible angles. He talked to the photographer, listened to the stories he told about his travels. Before we moved on he picked up a small print, a very high shot of a section of California coastline, you could see the beach, which ended against a sheer cliff face, a curving coastal highway cut into it. It was a little disconcerting how familiar it was. Edward looked at me once before setting it back down.

He bought a pretzel a few vendors down and put it in front of my face so I'd take a bite. I laughed.

"What?" He looked curious and amused.

I stopped walking and reached up on my toes. I kissed him, maybe slightly less appropriately than one should while in a crowd of people, but that wasn't the part that mattered to me. I licked my lips when we parted.

We shared the pretzel and then bought flavored popcorn and shared that too. I memorized how each part of the day fit together while we walked, trying to hold it all in my hands, but found that there was too much. It was like trying to hold onto warmth; it slipped and spread like honey through my fingers, past my wrists and up my arms, across my stomach, down to my toes and outward. I imagined if contentment had a physical feeling, this would be it.

By the afternoon we had situated ourselves at an outside table of some hole-in-the-wall food place and when I took my first bite I decided this was the best food I'd ever tasted. Edward and I smiled over our plates and he flirted and it felt like a date. The only real date I'd ever been on.

* * *

I was content to keep driving until she told me to stop.

Bella rambled once the long silences started to bother her. "That mission was the fifth ever founded in California." She pointed at the sign. "Lou Ferrigno lives out that way."

"The Hulk?"

"Yep," she made a popping sound at the P.

"Jack Kerouac wrote about staying out there," she pointed again some time later, "but I think it was only for a night."

I listened and I laughed at the sheer quantity of trivia she knew about everything. I felt, in the same place I knew I was in love with her, that whatever this was; it

was something I'd waited my whole life for. I still feel that way.

When it started getting dark, Bella tried looking for constellations, craning her neck to see the sky out the windshield and then out the passenger window. It wasn't working as well as she'd hoped. I pulled off the highway, found an empty frontage road, and stopped on the shoulder. Other than the ocean, which I didn't think would ever fade into the background, it was nearly silent. Living in Los Angeles I'd forgotten just how dark it got at night.

"What are we doing?" She asked, following me out of the car.

I got onto the hood so my back rested against the windshield; I opened my arms. "Tell me." I said to her.

Bella lay down next to me; tucked into my side I remembered how small she was. She looked up, searching. Dimly, I heard the cars on the highway below us moving past and I felt sorry for them for not having what I had right at that moment. That small piece, in all that mess of dirt and asphalt, we laid back and looked at the stars and I would do it all over again just to get to that part. The sky was clear, it was a warm night, Bella was with me and it made everything ok.

"There's Orion," she pointed a little to the left.

"Where?" I tried to follow her finger, but was getting distracted by the way her skin looked in the darkness.

She reached over and grabbed my hand, fixing it so I was pointing; she raised it to the right place. "There, see?"

I did.

We were quiet while she looked for another one. "Big Dipper!" She showed me and I kissed her face. "Look," she persisted until I raised my eyes to the sky again. While I was looking for it, I felt her move and then she was on top of me, her palms on either side of my head. It occurred to me that we'd be able to see her handprints on the windshield and I decided never to wash the car again.

"Yes?" I grinned at her, my hands automatically going to her hips. I worked my fingers under her shirt until I could feel skin.

Bella leaned down until I could lick her bottom lip if I wanted to. She touched her mouth to mine faintly, more of a whisper than an actual kiss. "Nothing."

I tilted my head to one side like I was trying to look around her.

"What are you doing?"

I grabbed her waist and shifted, trying to move her from my line of sight. "Looking for the Big Dipper."

She swatted my shoulder, the expression in her eyes playful. "Look for it later." She readjusted so she was more properly straddling me and I relented with a huff, unable to keep the smile off my face and the slight hitch from my breath as she found a suitable position.

I ran my hands down her thighs, back up and under her shirt. "You did that on purpose."

She made her eyes wide and for just a split second I believed her. "Did what?"

But her I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about act was just a little too perfect. She grinned before I had time to say anything and kissed me, but pulled back too quickly; I felt my head thump on the windshield when I tried to follow her sudden backward motion.

"You're going to be the death of me." I said it in a way that meant I wouldn't mind an end like that in the least. I slid my hands up her back and pressed her closer; I touched my mouth to the pulse in her neck, tasted her there and felt the small beat quicken under my tongue. Satisfied, I moved to her mouth and we took our time with it, savoring what was unique to the other. She tasted like strawberries and sunlight. Her hands moved into my hair as mine slid under her shirt again; I gripped her hips, pushed her down onto me once. Her breath left her in a rush; I felt it on my mouth and I had to feel it again. I watched her, wanting to see the way it felt for her. I lifted my knees, setting my feet flat. Her hands went back to the glass as I raised my hips just a fraction to meet her. And then again. And again.

She touched her forehead to mine. "Please," she drew the word out long.

I felt her moving above me until I was stretched tight and unable to form anything more than single syllable moans in her ear; to which she responded eagerly.

I wanted to rip the clothes from her body, throw her down onto the hood of the car; I wanted to claim her so everyone knew she was mine. Instead I said, "let's go."

We checked into a hotel, much nicer than the first. I had just enough foresight to grab our things from the car while Bella hung onto my belt loop. I dropped the shopping bags in the entryway of our room, pinned her against the wall; I pressed into her hard and she smiled up at me. But there was something else in that look too and I remembered.

Bella was a virgin.

I pulled back, quickly enough that she grabbed the front of my shirt, holding onto me. She didn't say anything. Catching my breath, I kissed her forehead. "We don't have to, not tonight." Some part of me was yelling that I was an idiot; she was willing, that much was obvious. But it was that look, a mixture of uncertainty and trust, which held me back. I wouldn't make her. I kissed her again, slower.

She led me and I let her, setting aside my more forceful urges.

We made it to the bed, our movements languid. And I couldn't say when it happened, but somewhere in that time a switch was flipped and her movements, while not sure, were ready. I couldn't say how I knew that.

She straddled me again, but left her hips still. In the low lamplight I saw her worry her lower lip between her teeth – new territory. I took the bottom of her shirt in my hands, taking it upward with aching slowness; she watched me, lifting her arms at the right time. The shirt fell somewhere behind her. I sat up, rested my back on the pillows, thick and smelling lightly of fabric softener. She was closer now, the strap of her bra starting to slide off one shoulder. I kissed her there, pulling the other strap down as well. I followed it's line, kissing her, running my tongue along her curves; I kissed between her breasts, her collar bone, the place over her heart. She pulled my shirt up and over my head and I stilled, letting her look at me. She was curious and sexy, running her hands over me, kissing my neck, finding all my places. My hips lifted involuntarily when she licked a spot under my jaw. I could almost feel her take note.

We turned so I was on top; she was letting me take over. Our clothes were shed, one single piece at a time until only her underwear were left. Her hands were above her head, lost in the pillows as I pulled a nipple into my mouth. Her sounds were breathy moans in the quiet night. I was careful with her, introducing each kiss, every touch slowly because no one had ever done it before.

Bella was only mine.

I put my fingertips into her underwear, pulling them down just barely, waiting to see if I was allowed. She arched herself for me, her head thrown back, lips parted while I memorized every inch of her. And she was beautiful, fragile and brave, soft and unbelievably sexy. My hands ran back up her thighs, my fingers brushing against her, making her arch again. Like time had jumped forward, her legs were wrapped around me; I kissed her once, waiting again.

She looked at me with those eyes that were love and trust and just, so fucking _her_.

I pressed into her, slowly and watchful, studying her face. She bit her lip once and I stopped, let her get used to me. When I felt her legs tighten around mine, I moved again. She reached up to pull my face down and I kissed her, slow and careful. And then in time with the rest of my movements. At first she was silent, her eyes half closed. But then she opened her mouth, quiet sounds coming out in slow breaths.

I rocked into her gently, letting her responses set the pace until I knew she was close, which was pleasant in it's surprise. Then she was moving too, meeting me; I reached down her body, touched her. I watched her head fall back, neck exposed and I couldn't resist. I bit softly the spot where her neck met her shoulder and felt her whole body tighten around me. I ran my tongue over the same place, bit again, could feel her crescendo. It was enough to send me over. My entire body pressed into her and she held me just as tightly. "Bella," I groaned into her neck. Heat. Static. Only her. And then the sound of lungs filling with air, finally. Hers and mine.

Some time much later I reached over and turned out the light.

We slept in a tangled mess of limbs and expensive sheets and before I fell asleep I felt a welling up of something inside me.

_Home_.


	20. Nineteen: Big Sur

Author's Note: Hi, thanks for reading; you're awesome, but hopefully you already know that. There are some point of view breaks in this one and another note at the bottom.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Nineteen: Big Sur

With no set destination, we drove. Curving our way past flat beaches and shores of jagged rock, the trees thinned and thickened by the roadside. I drove slower than I normally would because Bella liked to be able to really see what was outside the car. She kept her window down and pulled her hair back, but pieces near the front came loose anyway and blew around her face. I kept looking at her, so I would remember it. The open air, the way her skin felt under my hand, how the morning fog lifted like a curtain, showing everything in pure color.

After a while, I knew where I was and though we hadn't been driving long, I pulled off the highway; I knew Bella wouldn't want to miss this place.

* * *

I wasn't well traveled, the kind of life I had, I'd really never been anywhere. I read a lot, but never went to college; I looked at pictures, but never touched any of the places I saw. I lived indoors, trapped by everything that I let hold me. Myself. My tragedy. My cruel joke of a life.

And now, I felt like I could finally see.

Edward slowed and pulled off the highway; I had no idea where we were, but it looked like a place I would never want to leave. At first there was dark green and brown, trees were everywhere. And then brilliant, indescribable blue. I gasped, unable to think of even the slightest comparison. Turquoise. Sky. Ultramarine. Cobalt. Cerulean and steel. It crashed together on the shore in front of us and I thought about how I would never be able to pick a color that day. I felt the collision of the wave in a place somewhere near my heart. We pulled into a parking lot and paid the attendant and for a second I was angry that even the smallest part of this place was flattened and paved over.

I stared out the windshield and felt Edward's gaze on me, felt the pull of what I thought might be a smile.

"Feel free to sit in here if you'd like; I'll see you later."

I hadn't noticed that he'd gotten out of the car entirely; he leaned down, watching me fumble with my seatbelt as I hurried out.

We met at the front of the car and slipped our arms onto each other as we walked, as natural as breathing. His hand was both rough and soft against my bare shoulder. I shivered, remembering them on me in that same rough and soft way the night before, that amazing torture of pleasure.

"Cold?" He asked, squeezing my upper arm.

I shook my head; I was quite warm. In fact, the day was matched to my temperature, with the smallest of breezes to brush the hair from my face. I fixed the elastic holding it up off my neck, pulling it tighter. Fidgeted with my tank top, slipped off my shoes to walk barefoot in the sand. But I could still feel his hands, his beautiful and perfect way with them. How careful he was; I knew he held back for my sake. There was this rush inside me now; what would it feel like if he didn't? When I looked up at him, he had this look that said I may as well have been speaking out loud. "What?"

He lifted one side of his mouth in a smile. "Nothing."

We moved forward on the sand and I took the time to look around. The beach was actually a small cove, protected from the wind by the bluffs on either side. Plants I didn't know the names of grew on their surfaces, green and red. When the sun hit the rocks just right it looked almost gold. I looked at everything, smelled the salt in the water, noticed Edward and I were alone. I faced him, smiled at the way the wind styled his already unruly hair. I tilted my head, put a hand up to shade my eyes from the high sun. In this light, Edward's eyes were almost jade. I tucked the picture of him against that background deep in my memory.

"Do you swim?"

"You mean, can I?" He asked back. "Yes."

* * *

Bella was gorgeous. She was always beautiful, but when she was happy it was like a switch being flipped on; she lit up from the inside out. She reached up a hand and put her thumbnail in her mouth, like she was up to something. I thought about how it felt when I scraped my teeth along her index finger, those same nails scratching down my back when she curved up underneath me. I swallowed.

She took a step back without saying anything and turned around, ambling closer to the shore. I watched from my place a few yards back. She looked over her shoulder once, but not toward me; she seemed to be looking for the tiny outbuilding that housed the parking attendant, but that was almost too far from us to see. Her hands were in front of her, like she was fiddling with something. I watched, amused and wondering what she was doing.

And then she was sliding her jeans down her legs, kicking them off to the side next to her shoes. I stared blatantly, letting my gaze move from her ankles, up her calves, to the sensitive skin at the backs of her knees. I lingered there, remembering the taste, and then moved up to her thighs, over her hips, watched her hands adjust the waistband of her underwear. Blue. She pulled the tie out of her hair and let it's weight tumble down her back; she pulled the elastic onto her wrist.

She had absolutely no idea what all of that did to me.

I stayed where I was, knowing that the moment was personal. Swimming for her wasn't so much an escape as it was a kind of freedom and intrinsic need. I wondered how long it had been.

Bella walked straight into the water like she was a part of the element itself. She didn't look around and when the water was halfway up her body she lowered herself under. I had this strange notion that I was lucky to be seeing this.

She was under water for a long time, long enough that it started to worry me. I took a few steps forward, mentally figuring out how strong a swimmer I was. She popped up a long ways out and waved; I could see the water droplets shake from her hand. She called out, "what are you waiting for?"

I looked back toward the parking lot; Bella might get away with going without pants, but I wasn't sure if I'd be that lucky. I looked back to her and she smiled, treading water.

_Oh, what the hell? _I stripped down to my boxers and questioned when I'd become the self conscious one. I set my things next to Bella's and walked to the water. A wave covered my feet and was cold, but not so cold that it stopped me from making my way out. When I was deep enough to swim, I sunk down under the water, feeling it push and pull at me. I pressed forward, slicing through it until I could see Bella duck her head under to look for me. She waved again before surfacing. I floated up, sucking in a deep breath and shaking the water from my hair. Bella laughed when the drops hit her face.

It felt like the water was pushing us closer until her chest was touching mine and my hands were tugging on her hips. I wanted to wrap her around me until there was no space between us. Our legs tangled and I knew the more we held on to each other the more likely it would be that we would both go under, but it didn't seem so bad when it was with her.

I reached forward, trying to kiss her, but she just grinned and slipped under the water again. I followed, wanting to catch her, but she was a better swimmer. I watched her move through the water and it was like she had never belonged on land in the first place. With almost no movement, she glided through. She went deep and then up for air, down again, the color of the water making her body an ice blue. She flipped backward, clearly showing off and very pleased with herself.

I caught her when she came up for breath again, locking her to me. Her arms went around my neck and my mouth went to hers. Her lips were cool and a little salty, but there was still that particular taste that only belonged to her.

After a long while, we made our way back up to shallower water and then to the shore, breathing heavy. She stretched out flat on the dry sand, not caring that it would be almost impossible to get off later. I followed her lead, resting my back on the soft ground; the heat of the day felt good. I dozed.

Much later I realized we were leaving sand on everything and I didn't even blink at the thought that it would never come completely out of the seats of my car. I wanted it to stay on all the things it touched, permanent reminders that together, we were in that diner on the way out of Big Sur, in that quiet hotel room in Santa Cruz that night. We'd made love on that bed through the late night hours.

We showered sometime in the middle of the night and I watched as the last of the tiny granules slipped off her body and into the drain.

In bed again, warm and together, Bella still smelled of the ocean and the air. I pulled her on top of me to sleep.

"Edward?" Her voice was heavy with drowsiness.

"Hmm?"

"Can we stay here tomorrow?"

If she felt the strain of my nerves at her question, she didn't mention it. I had no reason to give her to explain my refusal, so instead I said, "of course."

But I knew something she didn't, something I didn't want to tell her.

Rosalie lived here.

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry this is a little short, but trust me, I had to break it there to keep from weirding up the flow. Let's see...the playlist for this is updated (on my homepage) through chapter eighteen and I'm putting together a new album in my photo gallery for all the places they've stopped at so far.

And I have a question for all you Pattinsonphiles (Pattinsonites? Pattinsonettes?) Have any of you managed to get a hold of How To Be, The Summer House, or The Bad Mother's Handbook? How did you find them?

Thanks!


	21. Twenty: The Unraveling

Author's Note: Hi lovelies, thanks for the read. There's one point of view change in this one.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Twenty: The Unraveling

We stayed the whole next day and at the end of it, Bella asked if we could spend Tuesday there as well. She wanted to see everything.

It was high tourist season and we fit right in with the laid-back crowds milling about in one place or another. I took her to see the clock tower, Duck Island Pond, and the surfing museum; she took it all in and asked for more. She tugged me along while I continually checked, studied, tuned into the people around me. I watched for ice blondes and I knew what her husband looked like so I watched for him as well. The rest of my focus went into making sure I seemed like myself. Was I holding Bella's hand too tightly? Did I smile and pay attention when she talked? Was she happy?

By the early evening, she could tell there was something off about my behavior. I was checking over my shoulder as we neared my car in the lot. She leaned into my side. "We can leave tonight instead, if you want."

It was the first thing she'd said all day that caught my full attention. "Why do you say that?"

She shrugged. I recognized it as something she did as a qualifier, as if to start her statement with 'I know I'm probably wrong'. "You just look a little on edge."

I should have known she would miss nothing; she was more perceptive than people gave her credit for, myself included. "No," I squeezed her waist and she twitched, ticklish. "Let's stay here tonight." I said it in a way that left no doubt in her eyes. I said it because I wanted her. It was a sudden and desperate thing, a raw and completely let go kind of a need. Abrupt with the realization that this would not last forever, that I could really and truly lose her. That at any moment I could drop her hand in the crowd and we would slip apart, a human rip tide carrying her out to sea. That one day soon might be the last day. So I held on tightly, the only thing I knew how to do.

And Bella felt the literal and anxious pull as I maneuvered my car out of the lot and into the light traffic. I caught her stealing glances and caught myself as well. But I had to remember it all. I told a stupid joke just to hear her laugh. I rolled the windows down enough to see her hair ruffle in the breeze. She smelled like the cooler air coming in off the ocean. I could feel the bones of her wrist under her skin. Still much too thin, but perfect in its fragility. And her hands, long, but tenuous in their strength, much like our hold on this temporary life we were making together. As I drove, I watched for Rosalie.

Bella squeezed my hand.

I wanted to keep her. I wanted to take her and hold her inside myself so we would never be apart. I had come much too far; I couldn't lose her now.

I barely waited for the closing click of the hotel room door before I grabbed her up to make her mine again. Her response was quick and submitting. She let me pull her clothing off fast. I had to see her, had to make sure there was nothing I'd missed. I didn't know under which dirty ground this spring had seeped from, but it flooded my other senses until I let it have control.

She pulled my shirt over my head and let it land in a muffled heap on the floor. Once the rest of my layers were peeled away, I grabbed her; put her into a position I wanted. She gasped and arched for me and I touched her everywhere as I slid inside. Soft. Heat. The delicate sweet smell below her ear. I moved against her hard and fast, feeling the desperation pulling at my consciousness. I held her to me with both arms, changed us so we faced each other. She fell back against the pillows and reached for me the way I reached for her. _I love you. I love you. I love you. Please. Don't leave me._

She came apart underneath me and I waited for my own release so I could watch her undoing. Head thrown back, eyes closed; I grazed along her neck until I wasn't able to hold back any longer.

After that, and later still, after we'd eaten and fallen back in bed. That was when I knew it was all over. I wouldn't be able to really clarify that if I tried. It was just some ancient instinct, the knowledge that danger was near, that feeling that you can never quite explain in the moment. Just a feeling. A bad one.

* * *

I spent the morning as if waiting for something to explode. Edward was on edge and it was putting me on edge; I wondered what he was looking for and if this was getting to him and if he was ready to turn back. But I was too afraid to ask. So instead I looked where he looked, hoping to see what he searched for and ease his nerves. I was jumpy because though I couldn't admit it, that didn't make it untrue – we were running. I suppose I only knew that intellectually though and most of the time it was easy enough to push away.

But even I could see that the cracks were starting to show and no matter how happy I was, I couldn't ever let myself completely forget. Everything falls apart eventually.

My fear of that was starting to self-fulfill; it fed on itself and grew and I still didn't even know what Edward was looking for when he watched over his shoulder. And as I looked over mine once more, I saw a man with long blonde hair and thrift store clothes, walking with his hands in his pockets; I couldn't see his eyes. It occurred to me then that I couldn't remember the shade of James' eyes or exactly what he smelled like or which side of his mouth turned up higher when he smiled.

A memory came, leaking through the breaks in the dam, trickling ice cold straight through the walls.

Back when James was still alive and we were there, together.

He stopped walking and first sat, then laid back on the grass, freshly green from the spring rain. The sun was high and he closed his eyes against it, opened his arms for me to join him.

I rested at his side, laying an arm over his stomach. The day was quiet and somewhere on the other side of the vineyard a breeze soothed the warming tree limbs. My voice was small, but I made the decision nonetheless. I wanted to have at least some part. "I think this should be the place."

He agreed and we stayed quiet for a while.

"You know I love you, right?"

I nodded and felt his hand rubbing my shoulder. He knew I was frightened. But he also knew I was ready. I wanted to be, anyway.

"And this isn't goodbye." I glanced up and saw that his eyes were still closed. "We'll always be together."

I nodded again.

"Say it."

"We'll always be together."

"And what can I get for you, miss?"

I cleared my throat, looked up at the waitress and remembered that I wasn't in Sonoma anymore. I ordered and handed her the menu, grateful to feel the light wind that kicked up and cleared my head. Behind Edward, a hummingbird looked for nectar among some lavender flowers.

"Are you alright?"

I wanted to ask him the same thing. "Yeah, just tired is all." I leaned forward and grabbed his hand, tethering us to each other.

"Want to head out today?" His thumb rubbed circles on my skin.

I said yes and he looked relieved. I hoped the bad would stay back here when we drove away.

Edward excused himself to use the restroom and I watched the Persian lilac tree, it's branches dipping at the tiniest brush of air and just like that, I was back in Sonoma's golden sunlight. It was peaceful there, inviting; I felt the damp grass on my back and I watched the sky and I was alone.

"Bella?"

And then it wasn't golden, it was purple. Lilacs. Santa Cruz. I exhaled and looked up.

"Oh." It was all I could think to say. She looked different, tentative and careful of her movement, slow. I wondered if it was the medication. Regardless, she was still the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen up close and I smiled; I wanted to go to her, but was afraid. "Rosalie."

She strode over, sitting in Edward's vacant chair. We regarded each other and it reminded me of two war veterans crossing paths; we had both been there. "When?"

I tried to think of lies, but I was never very good at it. "A few days ago." I tried to stick close to the truth.

"I thought you lived in Sonoma?" She looked down, eyeing the second place setting.

"I'm just…driving. You know, enjoying the freedom." I straightened my silverware on the napkin, watched the condensation bead on my water glass.

"Well, you look…like yourself."

My brow furrowed, I wasn't sure if that was complimentary or not.

"I mean…," she sighed and then the veil came off and I realized her fire was there all along; it was just slower to show itself. She looked up at me, off on a new train of thought. "Who are you here with?"

I could feel the heat rising on my face before I even thought of a suitable lie. My mind refused to work and instead I wondered, where's Edward? "N-no one." I hoped that he would see her with me and turn away.

"No one?"

"Yeah."

"There are two water glasses." Rosalie slipped her finger over the cold rim. "Are you with a man?" She showed me a devilish grin and I realized that she didn't suspect what was really happening, why should she?

Still the question caught me off guard and I didn't know how to answer, but it didn't matter, her eyes shifted away from me and focused and I simply watched as the lies fell apart. I read her face like a book. Confusion. Disbelief, _this must be some mistake_. And then anger. Absolute fury. But it wasn't directed at me and I thought about how I'd missed her and how on the day she left I pretended she was my mother.

Rosalie stood up fast and the chair tilted before falling back onto all four legs with a loud thump. She grabbed my wrist and stood me up. "You are coming with me."

I saw a man stand up as we passed; he followed and I wondered if this was the husband. The one who had gone to hell and back for her. "What's going on?" He looked at me, looked at her. He looked worried, confused, but also something else. Like he was trying to work it out in his mind if she was alright or not. I thought that he would probably do that for the rest of his life even if she never showed a sign of instability again.

"Dr. Masen is here; I just want to get her a safe distance away."

I tried to wrench my hand free. "Rosalie, it's not what you think." I said, though I had no idea what she might be thinking.

"Bella!" Edward called for me and I planted my feet. We were outside the restaurant's patio now and I felt the eyes of the other patrons, bright with anticipation of a good show. My heart. My breath, faster. _Please don't watch me, please don't stare. _I would have begged if it would have made them get up and leave. But I couldn't. It was coming already. I was in that moment when I knew I was about to drown, the wave was so much bigger than I was, but I could do nothing but hope it would be over soon.

Edward was there and he was watching too and it was all the worse. I stared down at the concrete; I wanted to be ok. For him, I had to be.

Grey, the color of the sidewalk.

And then Rosalie's voice. "I _knew_ it," she spat. I felt movement, her husband putting his hands on her.

I felt them orbit around me; Edward somewhere in front, soothing but urgent. Rosalie, pushing me behind her. I wanted to scream.

_Please don't touch me._

And the other faces, like the stars at night, too many to count.

And me.

Losing my hold.

There was a rising up then of something long dormant. I wish I could go back. Not to Los Angeles. To Sonoma. To James and the fireplace and the vineyards. So I wished and I let the walls come down and let everything come up. I let James take me.

"Bella," I felt a hand shaking me. I remembered that hand, rough and perpetually ink stained.

I opened my eyes. Ice blue. His eyes were ice blue. I smiled, comforted by his face and the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth.

"You were having a nightmare." He smoothed his hand down my arm and pulled the blanket higher.

I stretched on the narrow couch, a blush creeping up my cheeks. "Was I talking again?"

His grin answered my question.

I made room for him on the small space, but still ended up laying on him anyway. "You're so warm," I let my cheek rest on his chest. He smelled woodsy, like pine and early morning fog.

His fingertips traced up and down my back. "It's raining again." I knew that it was one of his favorite sounds. I felt myself getting heavy. He kissed my head. "Go back to sleep."

Between the rain, the fire, and him, I knew I wouldn't be conscious for long.

"I love you."

"I love you," I breathed, feeling my heart beat slow and steady.

"Don't ever forget. Promise me."

"I promise."

Another hand, incessant. And a voice, far away and muffled. Edward.

I opened my eyes; I was lying on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.

His fingers skimmed over my jaw; he looked so worried. And he was asking me something, but he still sounded muted. Like either he was under water or I was, I couldn't tell. I let my head lean back on the concrete and looked up. The sky was so open here, so completely blue.

_I promise_.


	22. Twenty One: The Last Day

Author's Note: Hi ladies, thanks for reading. Ok, this story is moving toward the finish line so instead of posting once a week, I'm going to be posting the last chapters as I edit them. Also, this chapter switches points of view A Lot and all of Bella's parts are flashbacks.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Twenty One: The Last Day

"…You'll never be free of me…"

-Tom Waits

It was the end of August and it was pouring outside. Which, in California, meant humidity. To escape from the stuffiness of the house, James and I sat outside on his front porch, ice waters in hand. I lifted the cool glass to my forehead, feeling the embarrassment heating my body.

He rested his elbows on his knees, one step higher than I was. "It's not that I don't want to…," he let go of whatever he might have said.

"It's ok." I flushed again with the memory of my pitiful attempts at seduction. It had been six months since we'd met; I loved him, I thought half a year was long enough to wait. But it had been one mistake after the other. In the end, he all but pushed me away, and then held me when I cried from the rejection. It didn't help. I felt like a doll on a shelf next to his other belongings and I was beginning to think he liked me that way. Untouched.

"Hey," he adjusted so I was sitting between his legs. "I have a birthday present for you."

I could feel his face in my hair. "My birthday's not until next month," I leaned into him.

"I don't care." He paused, waiting for me to ask what it was, but even the word "present" made me uncomfortable. "Don't you want to know?"

I shook my head.

"You'll really like it."

I lifted my mouth in a half smile, pretending. "Ok…,"

"It's a trip. You, me, Jasper, and Alice." I could feel the smile in his voice.

"Where?"

"That part's a surprise."

* * *

I couldn't lie anymore; I told Rosalie everything.

We helped Bella to the car; she didn't say anything and I could feel her crumbling in my arms like a pillar of salt and I was Lot. All I wanted was to leave the city. I sat her in the backseat, stood in front of the open door and confessed. Rosalie's husband was quiet, taking her waist when he knew I'd said something to anger her. I envied him that, being able to touch her without repercussion.

In the end, she was not moved by my mea culpa. I remembered that attitude; she was fiercely protective of Bella while in the hospital. A displaced mothering instinct, I'd thought, but now I knew it was just her way.

She gave me one week to deliver Bella safely back home.

But still, when I got to the highway, I turned north.

* * *

I knew I was being childish, but I asked anyway. "Can I at least get a hint?" I leaned forward between the two front car seats, first looking at Alice and then Jasper.

"Nope," Jasper grinned at me, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. "But I'll trade you a piece of licorice for some chips." He waved the red vine in my face.

"How about…I'll trade you _the rest_ of the chips for a hint about where we're going?"

"Don't you dare," Alice warned from the driver's seat.

"Ok," he ignored her, "but chips first," he put his hand out. I plopped the half eaten bag in his hand and waited for my clue. He twisted further in his seat and lowered his glasses so I could see his eyes. "Ok, here's the hint…ready? We're going…south." He turned back around and faced the windshield, tipping the opening of the chip bag to his mouth.

* * *

I stopped in Half Moon Bay, hoping the quiet and the distance would give me time to think. I pulled into a motel with a view of the ocean for Bella; she still hadn't spoken and there was a voice telling me she wasn't really there, but I was trying to push it away. I needed to get her out of the car and alone, someplace she felt safe. My mind ticked off a list rapidly. She was on no medication, but an anti-anxiety prescription might be helpful if I had my pad with me. Lorazepam. Or Valium. How long since she was last lucid? I checked the time and did the calculations. Two hours.

"Where are we?" Bella spoke as if coming out of a dream.

I exhaled and faced her, relief trumping medical training for a split second. "Bella?"

Eyes, clear and focused. She watched me and I forgot what she'd asked.

"Where are we?"

"Half Moon Bay," I spoke quietly. "I thought we could stop -,"

"How close are we to San Francisco?"

Manner, sedate. "Less than an hour."

"Can we go there instead?"

* * *

I started watching road signs as a way to guess our destination.

San Rafael – 20 miles.

Mill Valley – 28 miles.

San Francisco – 39 miles.

I looked at James, who couldn't hide his smile fast enough. I wrapped my arms around his neck, excited.

"I think she's guessed," he said.

* * *

The cloud cover increased as we moved north and by the time we were in the city, it was raining.

I needed to get us somewhere, get out of the car, touch Bella's face and make sure she was ok. The years of schooling I thought I'd left behind in Los Angeles were warring with my own personal desire that Bella was alright just because I wanted it to be so.

I pulled to the front of a hotel, gave the keys to the valet. Bella deserved to stay somewhere nice tonight. I tried to help her out, but she refused. She was calm and completely unbothered by the crush of people around her; it was like she didn't even see them. I put a pin in the thought when she finally touched me, sliding her cold fingers through mine.

She stared up at the grand façade of the old hotel; she smiled. "How'd you guess?"

I didn't know what she meant.

* * *

I felt like a little kid, my face pressed to the glass as we drove down the narrow city streets. Everywhere, there were people; I felt safer behind the glass.

And the architecture, it wasn't quite like this anywhere else. Alice pulled up in front of a huge stone building, a white colonnade brightly lit in front of us. Jasper pushed his sunglasses up onto his head. "Swanky, Mrs. Whitlock," he said, putting on a southern accent.

She opened her door, "thank you, Mr. Whitlock."

I whispered to James, worried, "is it ok that I'm wearing sweats?"

He chuckled, "they'll think you're an actress or something."

"Great."

* * *

The room had a view of the bay and the city streets, curving up and down with the hills. I looked at Bella; she walked to the window and looked outside. What could have been called peaceful behavior was not; it was too everything. Bella was too calm and too quiet and too alright.

"Is there paper or something I can write on?" She asked, turning to search the desk and finding it before I could answer.

"What do you need it for?" I set our things down, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. I didn't want to admit it, but a part of me knew this wasn't right. So I was waiting for it.

She sat at the desk carefully, like she was afraid to disturb anything. "Just some things I want to get out, nothing really." She smiled at me, encouraging and placating.

I went into the bathroom to splash some water on my face.

_Something is wrong._

_I know._

My mind felt splintered from all sides; I needed to get out.

Back in the main room, Bella was writing, barely pausing long enough to collect her thoughts; I kept my distance. "I'm going to pick up some food, ok?"

She looked up, eyes unfocused. "Ok."

And this was the end.

I knew, though I hadn't realized it yet, what I was going to do and that things wouldn't ever be the same and that this goodbye was the big goodbye. My heart clenched and my muscles ached and I couldn't just walk out the door like this. So I walked over, fast like she might disappear, and pulled her up, pressed her to me. Bella was disoriented, but willing. She raised her face to me and for a single frame, she was the Bella I fell in love with. The one I swam in the ocean with, made love to, let in, gave it all up for. I watched that time flicker across us along with the recognition that we were in exactly the same place in exactly the same moment.

Her arms went around me and I clung to her.

_Stay with me._

I pressed my face into the side of her neck, held her tighter.

_Be alright._

And when I kissed her, it was with everything I had left.

_You have to be.

* * *

_

We were so blatantly tourists that weekend. We took pictures of each other and fed the pigeons and rode the cable cars. I had never laughed so much in my life.

On Sunday, our last full day, we went to Alcatraz. It was so cold, but we just bundled up and stayed close. As the boat moved across the water, the fog got thicker and thicker until we couldn't see anything.

"Let's take a picture." Alice said, pulling her camera out of her coat pocket.

"Of what?" James asked, looking around at the grey shroud surrounding us.

"Here, smarty pants, take one of the three of us," she thrust the camera into his hands and pulled Jasper closer.

"Huh?" Jasper asked around a mouthful of candy bar.

"Smile." James said quickly.

Our faces were exaggerated and silly as we appeased Alice. But she said she loved the picture anyway.

It was the last time the four of us were together before Alice and Jasper moved to Los Angeles and the most fun I'd ever had.

* * *

I was gone for a long time.

I hadn't realized the entire afternoon had passed until I saw the car headlights coming on. I'd walked without destination, living completely inside my head, trying to find a way around what I knew was coming. It didn't occur to me to talk to Bella, but as I approached the hotel, food forgotten, I started thinking of ways to broach the subject. There was no good way to do that.

There were no lights on in the room, but the curtains were open, the city lights washing over the furniture. She was asleep, curled up on top of the bedspread. I worked it down on the other side and then moved around to lift Bella so I could cover her up. When I did that, I saw the pad of paper she'd been writing on; I swept it off the bed and finished with the blankets. She didn't stir.

I yawned and kicked off my shoes, flexing my sore feet. I sat at the desk, watched her sleep; she looked like a porcelain doll in the darkening light. But my curiosity was getting the better of me and I felt that nagging urge – _what was she writing?_

I ran my hand through my hair.

_Don't invade her privacy._

_Read it, at least you'll know what state she's in._

_It's not right._

I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees.

_Read it._

I rolled my shoulders, stretched my neck, stood up, grabbed the paper. I pulled my chair closer to the window, using the light. I read.

_His hair was the exact color of bleached wheat._

_He collected yellow legal pads._

_His smile rose higher on the left._

_He could quote from Huxley and Orwell._

_He liked it when I wore white._

_He was allergic to bee stings._

_When he was thirteen, he needed stitches in his lip after he was hit during a fight._

_He was a liar._

_He loved me._

_He cheated._

_I loved him. Victoria loved him too I think._

It went on for eighteen pages.

It was like every thought, every memory she'd ever had of James had been put on paper. I tried to retreat. _Doctor_. But I couldn't. I kept reading and I felt everything.

I heard the words _irreparable harm_ and _horrible mistake_.

I was supposed to help her, teach her how to heal and then let her live her life. This was never supposed to happen.

And then the quiet voice.

_What have you done?_

"Edward?"

I froze, my eyes to the paper.

"What are you doing?" I heard the blankets shifting as she sat up, I could no longer see her but in shadow. "Is that…what are you doing?" Her voice shook in her alarm.

I put her list down, preparing to do what I had to.

"Bella," I forced myself to sound even, pushing away thoughts like love and hope and possibility. I remembered, that was not the world I lived in. "I think we should go back."

Despair. It had a sound and a taste in the room that night.

She got out of bed fast and stood in front of me, her clothes rumpled from sleep; I imagined she was warm, but I couldn't let myself touch her, not after this. "We can't," she was trying to sound strong.

"We have to -,"

"Why?" Her voice rose, "because of this?" She grabbed her written on paper, the words cramped for room, her stalemate with the past taking up all the available space. "This is…this is nothing. I'll throw it away. Just don't take me back, alright?" She got closer, dropped the paper onto the desk, touched my forearms; her hands weren't warm like I thought they might be. "Alright?" She asked again, "ok?" She was between my legs now, her hands moved into my hair. "Let's drive again, ok?" Her hands felt so good it was almost easy to forget. I let my forehead rest against her stomach; it felt like a betrayal. "We'll go back to Big Sur; I want to swim again." Her fingers slid through my hair, down my neck and up, soothing. Back and forth.

_How? How do I do this?_

"Ok?" She said again, her voice touched with desperation. "We'll just drive."

I put one arm around her legs, the other around her hips. I wanted to steady us both. I closed my eyes.

I could hear the tears. "We don't have to ever go back."

I loosened my hold, looked up at her, thought of a night like this one in another dark hotel room in another place.

_Where do you want to go?_

_Let's just drive._

I never meant to hurt her. But again I thought, this was never supposed to happen.

I took the pad of paper, set it in her hand; she knew what I was asking even if I couldn't explain to her why. And I knew how she would answer.

And I thought that heartbreak must feel like this.

She stared at it and I watched her watering eyes move quickly over the text; her hands held it too tightly.

Me.

The papers.

Let go.

Hold on.

Even in the near pitch darkness, I could see the breaking.

Her voice sounded thick with the weight of the years. "Why are you doing this?"

I grabbed it out of her hands, let it fall, held her to me close enough that we were seamless. "I'm sorry." I let her cry, felt her trying to pull. I let her take me with her.

She whispered. "Don't let go, ok?"

I didn't respond, but she knew.

It was time to go home.


	23. Twenty Two: Let Her Go

Author's Note: Hi readers, thanks for stopping by. The playlist and second photo album for this story are updated on my homepage. Also, this goes back and forth in point of view a few times, so watch for that.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Twenty Two: Let Her Go

Carlisle and Esme were in the middle of their second triple shift since Edward took Bella.

A pager vibrated and they went for their waist clips simultaneously. "It's mine," Esme said. She called the number on its face and listened while Carlisle waited. After a moment she looked at him and shook her head. He leaned his elbows on the counter at the nurses' station and rubbed his hands over his face.

* * *

I drove all night.

Instead of the Pacific Coast Highway, I took the interstate; Bella was falling and I needed to get to Los Angeles fast. The car ate up the ground and mile by mile she left me, going instead to that same place I tried to lift her from in the beginning.

She cried sometimes, but mostly she was quiet; it was worse. I wished she would scream at me, curse me for everything I'd done to her. It would match the commentary already running through my mind.

_All of this and for what? Because you didn't want to let her go? Selfish, egotistical bastard. You took her from a _hospital,_ what did you think was going to happen?_

_I thought I would be enough to save her._

We passed a sign, Los Angeles - 100 miles.

I reached for Bella and she reached for me.

* * *

"He's here again."

"I know." Carlisle responded, walking almost too fast for Esme to keep up with; it was something he did when under stress. She didn't mention it.

"Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock too, you should go talk to them."

He stopped and Esme's steps faltered. "And say what Esme? What else is there?" His voice echoed in the quiet hallway and his guilt for snapping at her was instant.

She took the file from his hands. "I'll check on Tanya for you; go, they're in the lobby." She squeezed his arm as he stood there, trying to be what they needed him to be. "I'll come down there when I'm finished."

He made his approach slowly, trying out different ways of saying the same thing. _We have no new information, Charlie. _

Charlie was standing near the Whitlocks, arms crossed as if waiting, already knowing Carlisle would show. They used to be friends.

"Charlie, Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock," Carlisle nodded in greeting, feeling helpless, but ready to absorb whatever the group had to say; he owed them at least that.

"Well?"

Carlisle looked to Charlie, preparing to answer. The three of them had been coming to the hospital every night; it was developing into an uneasy routine, though this routine had a one week expiration date. "I'm sorry; we don't have any further information."

His voice was flat, "you have three more days."

That was their timeline, the favor a final nod toward their old friendship. Carlisle got one week to get Bella back, after that, Charlie was going to involve the police. They owed him more personal favors than he owed Carlisle. "I understand." He understood that this could be the end of his career and life as he knew it. How could he not have known? How could he not keep control of his own doctors? But if the roles were reversed, Carlisle would do everything in his power to get his daughter back. He wasn't even completely sure why he was given the time to begin with; he felt he didn't deserve that kind of good faith.

Mrs. Whitlock spoke up. "What'll happen to them?"

Carlisle tried to push personal feelings aside, thoughts about how much Edward used to remind him of himself and how he had trusted the young man, how he had considered him a friend. "Well, if you choose to do so," he glanced at Charlie, "Bella will be put back into the hospital. We can't know for sure what kind of mental state she'll…we'll most likely have to start from the beginning."

"And to Dr. Masen?" She asked.

"That remains to be seen."

"He should be put in jail." Charlie's voice was sharp. It wasn't the first time he'd said it.

Carlisle waited a beat before answering. "I'm still not sure there's a crime here. Dr. M-,"

"No crime? He _kidnapped_ my _daughter_," his anger was rising.

"She's not a minor and there is no evidence of -,"

"Don't tell me about legal procedure, _doctor_," Charlie spat.

But Carlisle was right, without any solid evidence that Bella had been taken without her consent, Charlie couldn't report that she'd been kidnapped. It may have been the only true reason the police weren't involved yet. Carlisle lowered his voice. "From what we've gathered, she went willingly Charlie." He thought back to Esme's concerns about Bella and Edward's relationship, how he'd brushed them off, and how Rosalie was worried enough to speak up. And Tanya, she knew something, but wasn't telling.

"I don't believe you."

* * *

The sign for UCLA said nine miles.

"No."

It was the first I'd heard her speak since we'd left San Francisco. I squeezed her hand.

"No," she said again. "I don't want to go back." She looked like a caged animal. She faced me, frantic, trying one last time in desperation. "You can't do this," I felt her nails in my palm and for the first time in I don't know how long, I felt tears stinging my eyes.

I blinked them back, but my voice betrayed me. "I have to."

"No!" She yanked her hand from mine. "Pull over," she ordered.

I tried reaching for her. "Bella -,"

"Pull over the _fucking_ car."

"Bella, I-,"

In a flash, she reached for the door handle, pulled. For a too long second, I felt the wind and the loud sounds of the freeway.

I slammed on the brakes.

Squealing tires, mine and someone else's.

A truck passed, it swerved out from behind me, knocking my side mirror cleanly off.

I pulled onto the shoulder, my entire body drumming. I wanted to be mad, I wanted yell at her. But then I looked over and watched the last piece of her break apart. I don't think she noticed that she was crying. She stuttered. "I – I don't…," she folded over and covered her face. "I'm sorry."

I shook my head, though she couldn't see. _This is all my fault._

Her teeth chattered, "I – I d-don't know why I -," a sob kept her from finishing. She gripped her hair too tightly and a low guttural sound pushed out from between her clenched teeth.

I grabbed her by whatever I could reach and pulled her toward me until she was on my lap. One by one, I loosened her fingers from her hair. She wrapped her arms around her middle, like her sobs were crushing her from the inside out. I held the back of her head, keeping her against me, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. I rocked her, murmuring words I knew she couldn't hear.

* * *

Carlisle's pager buzzed and he checked it.

"Go ahead," Charlie said.

Carlisle nodded, trying not to show emotion. He strode to reception and reached for the phone with a trembling hand. He dialed the number he knew by heart.

It was four o'clock in the morning and he'd been awake for slightly under twenty four hours, but could no longer feel the heaviness in his limbs and in his mind. He felt a tense coil tightening somewhere in his stomach and a voice that said this was only the beginning.

"Carlisle?"

Edward sounded ragged and all the things Carlisle had planned to say, had stayed up late thinking about, dissolved. "Where are you?"

"Five minutes away."

"And Bella?" He said it in a whisper, hoping to God that she was alright. He waited for an answer, but the line was quiet. "Edward?"

"Carlisle…it's bad."

When he got off the phone, he paged Esme, 911.

Turning back toward the chairs, he saw that Charlie was sitting, clearly exhausted. Mrs. Whitlock had one hand on his arm, the other on her husband's; she looked as if she were holding everyone together.

Esme jogged over from intake, one look from her husband and she knew Edward was back. The pair walked over to Bella's father. He looked up and all his fears played across his face. _Was Bella still alive? What happened to her? Was she afraid? Was she hurt?_

Carlisle took a small step forward, unsure of how to start.

"What is it?" Charlie said, losing his patience.

"Edward and Bella are back -,"

The group stood. "Where is she? Can I see her?" Charlie tried walking around Carlisle, but he stopped him.

His kept his tone calm and careful; it was the same way he talked to new patients. "They're on their way in," he touched Charlie's arm when he tried moving again, "wait. She's going to need -,"

"They're here," Esme interrupted, seeing the lights of a car outside the big glass doors; Edward had pulled up almost onto the sidewalk.

* * *

I parked as close to the entryway doors as I could and shut off the engine. Inside the car was quiet; Bella gripped my hand. My throat constricted around my useless words, "I'm sorry…," For not taking care of her, for adding more pain to her life, and also, for taking her back here. Somewhere in my distant hope, I really thought we would be ok, that it would never come to this.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bella shake her head.

After another minute, I helped her out of the car.

It was like everything hurt. We walked slowly and the closer we came to the doors, the tighter she held onto me; she was pressed into my side, much the same as the night we left. I could feel the side of her face against my chest. I thought about how she liked to sleep like that and how she favored the left side of the bed though most of the time she woke up on top of me. I thought about how her hair smelled like strawberries and how when she laughed, and I mean really laughed, she'd tip her head back and show her neck. I saw Carlisle and Esme on the other side of the doors, I saw Bella's father and people that must be her friends standing next to him and I thought about how after tonight, I would never see Bella again.

Esme opened the door and I kept an arm around Bella, whose body was shivering.

I couldn't look Carlisle in the eye.

"Get away from her." Her father's voice echoed off the marble floors; he was close enough that he grabbed my shoulder, trying to shove me away. But Bella was still holding on and when I started to lose my balance, so did she; I righted us barely before we both fell.

Carlisle interceded, "Charlie, Bella needs you to stay calm, alright?" His voice was like a quiet hum; he kept talking, but it was not the distraction he hoped it would be.

I reached down to Bella's hands, tried to pull them off, but she wouldn't budge. And the more I touched her, the more I felt like I was dying. My eyes clouded with unshed tears as I tried to talk to her. "Bella," I unclasped one of her hands and kept it in mine, brought it to my lips. I didn't know how to do this.

Charlie growled at me, "get your goddamn hands off my daughter." He stood right in front of me, Bella's friends behind him, Carlisle and Esme to my side. There was too much and Bella was too raw and for a quick second my defenses went up. Charlie was scaring her and I didn't know how to keep this from escalating.

"Dad?" She sounded so small.

"Bells?" His breath came out hard and his stance softened immediately. She looked up like she was just realizing he was there. He reached for her with a cautious hand but brought it back, unsure of how she might react; I knew what he wanted because it was what I wanted. To grab her up and keep her safe forever.

Bella looked up at me and her mouth parted; she looked at her father, at me. Her arms came down to wrap around herself, to hold together without me. She took a step away from all of us.

Esme came up beside her. "Let's take you someplace quieter. Would you like that?" She was gentle in her silence as she waited for Bella to answer.

Bella nodded once, took another step, this time toward Esme.

I watched; I forced myself to. _This is because of me_.

She walked away slowly, Esme's arm around her shoulders. She didn't look back.


	24. Twenty Three: The End is the Beginning

Author's Note: First, many thanks of course. Ok, I tried to make it as clear as possible, but I thought I should let you know that this chapter jumps around in time a lot. More at the bottom.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Twenty Three: The End is the Beginning

At first, it was bad.

There were people around me always, doctors and nurses, and police, my father, and Alice and Jasper. The first full day, or maybe more, was passed in a disconnected haze of sedation. I remember the time like those dreams where you can breathe underwater. There was the color white, the ceiling and lab coats. And blue, the scrubs and my sheets, Carlisle's tired eyes. And that comforting smell of aloe and soap, Esme's hands. And people talking, I remember that too, but only because they all said the same thing.

_Tell us._

_Tell us what happened._

_Did he hurt you?_

_Did he force you?_

_What did he do to you?_

No, I told them. They had it all wrong.

Even with the state I was in, they were asking me to sell him out.

After waking up from the drugs, it was still blurry. I wasn't strapped down, but the bed I was in had the restraints for it; I wondered if I had been, if that's why I was so heavily sedated. The first thing I remember clearly is asking for Edward and the way my father looked at me when I did. Alice and Jasper were outside, he'd said, but Edward wasn't there. He didn't tell me any more than that.

They kept me there for days, waiting for what they deemed lucidity. I heard the words "nervous breakdown." When the nurses came in, I whispered questions. _Where's Edward? How much trouble is he in? Can I see him?_

They looked at me with varying degrees of sadness and pity. "Stockholm?" I heard one nurse ask another. I laughed at that.

And then a new doctor came to see me. Dr. Weber, I remembered her. She was soft spoken and kind, but I decided on the spot that she couldn't help me.

For a while, I resisted. But then things got worse. I started to mix up my memories of James and Edward. I would wake up in the middle of the night and not remember which one was dead. Over and over.

It was a strange time.

After a couple of weeks, they let me get up, walk around. But I was kept away from the other patients. I got my clothes back, the ones I bought with Edward. They had all been washed.

Esme was with me a lot, and Nurse Klein, who wasn't so bad after all. But they watched, one or the other, all the time. I had to use to bathroom with them in the same room, shower, change my clothes, they stayed close when I slept.

But being with the nurses had its advantages. I learned things.

Victoria had been transferred to Patton; it was a state hospital.

The police had stuck around for a few days, but no charges had been filed yet.

And Tanya was still there, somewhere.

No one ever came out and said Edward's name, even when I asked. So for a while, I started thinking that maybe he would come back for me. After everyone had gone to sleep, or were distracted, he'd slip into my room. "Let's go." He'd say. And we'd run right out from under their noses, laughing all the way. Drive up the coast, sleep when we wanted to, stay where we wanted to, like it was supposed to be. For a while, I lived in that world.

"He's not coming back, Bella."

Dr. Weber's soft voice was stern, a shock to the system.

"You're going to have to learn to take care of yourself."

Not coming back?

"You can live on your own terms."

That was my first day of therapy.

Things settled after that into the routine I'd come to know. I was put in a room, got a new roommate, a timid girl that never spoke. Abuse victim, every sort of abuse imaginable until her poor eggshell spirit snapped in two. I listened to her at night when I couldn't sleep. She relived her life in nightmares and it made me think. No one had ever done anything to me, but they left me, the people I loved died.

But the worst of everything, those were the things I had done to myself.

The next day I went into Dr. Weber's office.

"I'm ready to talk."

I told her things I hadn't even told Edward. Things about James, things I was just now admitting to myself. That I was sometimes afraid of him, but I was more afraid of being left. How I clung to him and believed I loved him, but after Edward I wasn't sure what I felt about anything. So I talked until there were no words left and hoped that somehow, we could make sense of it all.

Charlie came to visit on Sundays and after a few months, took part in a group session for family members. It was quiet and awkward and meant more to me than anything he'd ever done before.

Things were different for us after that. I didn't press the unspoken rules I'd made so long ago and he no longer followed them anyway. He started saying things like, "your mother loved that;" he told me about their first date and how he'd been so nervous he hardly spoke two words. And still, the next day, she called him.

There was a new dynamic in our relationship and it was weird, but good. Very good.

Sometime after that, Jasper came to visit. He was all gangly limbs and uncomfortable gestures and it made me sad. I missed the mellow, easy rapport we used to have. When I asked him where Alice was, he said she was working, that he'd come to talk to me about his brother.

"He wasn't always like that." He started. Jasper was an expressive speaker, he used his hands and I watched them. Rarely had he and I ever been without a third person, a buffer. The things we used to talk about were always filtered and watered down. So to hear him now, I realized – it wasn't only me. I'd let the guilt I had for letting James die, for not following him, consume me until no one else was with me in that darkness. But Jasper, in a different way, was down there with me that whole time.

"Bella," he leaned forward on the table, his hands clasped in front of him; he squeezed them tightly together. "I should have known he was – that something was wrong." His face wad earnest; it said, _please forgive me_.

I felt my face turn down. "What?" I didn't understand; I had carried the guilt on my own for so long.

"I noticed things with him sometimes, like how – but I never – I should have done something." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry, Bella."

I wasn't the only person who had lost someone; it was so stupidly obvious now. Jasper lost his brother and he was grieving, just like me.

"Jasper," I reached forward, grabbed his hand. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Something was broken Bella, and I didn't do _anything_. I ignored it for years and he – now I can't -," he stared at the table.

"Listen to me," I shook his hand lightly so he'd look up. "You're right, something was broken in him. You have _nothing_ to be sorry for."

It was my own personal moment of clarity.

After that, things got better.

At the end of April, I was released.

I was taking medication for my lingering anxiety. I didn't know how long exactly I'd be on it, but that was ok. And I had twice weekly appointments with Dr. Weber, which meant I'd have to stay in Los Angeles. I didn't know if Edward still lived here or not.

This was what I knew. Edward was never arrested; no charges of any kind were filed against him. I also knew that he no longer worked at the hospital and was barred from even coming onto the property.

I felt the guilt like an anchor, but it was the one thing I wouldn't talk about. Instead, I let myself remember all of it, good and bad, in the hopes that someday I would be able to tell him I was sorry, and that still, I was so much more than that.

I moved in with Alice and Jasper while I saw Dr. Weber.

At the end of May, Charlie's year long leave of absence was over and he moved back to Sonoma. For some reason, I asked him if he'd ever move back to Washington. He said no, too many ghosts.

He hugged me, with both arms, and told me he loved me. I didn't know what would happen with us, if we'd lose some of what we'd forged after he left, but I knew something was there and that was enough.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

APA Ethical Principles and Code of Conduct.

Section 10.05 Sexual Intimacies with Current Therapy Clients/Patients

"Psychologists do not engage in sexual intimacies with current therapy clients/patients."

Dr. Weber had pointed that rule out sometime while I was still in the hospital. I still didn't want to talk about Edward unless I was being told where he was and what happened.

"A psychologist in the midst of a life crisis who engages in behavior that he or she never would have in other life circumstances."

That's what she said to me. I was a victim of his life crisis. A matter not of true attraction or love, but timing, perfect and tragic timing. He didn't love me, never did. What he did feel was trapped by his life. He was looking for excitement, a way out of his responsibilities, and I provided that for him; I symbolized something to him. Sex. Danger. New. Escape. Pick a word. He wasn't out there waiting for me. I would probably never see him again.

"I don't believe you."

We talked about it again during my very last session. It was autumn, about six months after I'd been released. And fifteen months to the day since I'd last seen Edward. I was about to leave Los Angeles for good and I found myself wondering aloud if he still lived there.

Dr. Weber had looked so disappointed that I backpedaled, saying I'd asked from idle curiosity. I didn't want her to look at me like that, not after everything.

"After all the strides you've made, Bella. You're not even on medication anymore -,"

"I know, I didn't mean it," I mumbled.

She didn't believe me and even I knew it was only a half hearted attempt at a lie.

But the truth I was only willing to admit to myself.

That I had loved him all this time, and hearing Dr. Weber tell me that what I saw on his face when he looked at me wasn't love forced open that empty space that no amount of therapy would ever fill. But a part of me wanted that blank void, like a reminder that it used to be filled. That for a short while the thing that everyone searches for, I'd found it. I'd held it in my hands and called it mine. Ours.

One night, a month or so after my release, I was at the computer in Jasper's office. I knew I shouldn't, that it was unhealthy, and that it might hurt my recovery, but I did anyway.

I put in my search – _APA, code of ethics_.

Two years.

That's what it said. Personal relationships with former therapy patients could be formed after two years. I kept going.

It wasn't easy, but it was possible. Edward and I could be together.

"What are you doing?"

I startled, closed the internet browser. When I turned around, Alice's arms were crossed; I could tell she'd been reading over my shoulder. "Nothing," I said lamely.

She came closer and I could see it on her face. _Backsliding? _"You can't Bella."

My jaw clenched and I nodded. "I know."

"Not ever." I could see my hurt mirrored in her own. "Bella?"

I nodded again, "I know. I just…," I didn't know how to use words for this. "I still miss him, Alice." My throat tightened and I let the memories come, understanding that they'd have to be enough. _I'd found it_. "Every day."

* * *

Author's Note: Ok, there's two more chapters after this, plus an epilogue.

Also, all APA references were taken directly from the APA code of ethics. The line that starts, "A psychologist in the midst of a life crisis...," is a quote by Dr. Stephen Behnke, APA Ethics Director. Taken from the article, "The discipline of ethics and the prohibition against becoming sexually involved with patients." (Monitor on Psychology, v. 37, no.7, June 2006)


	25. Twenty Four: Hope for the Hopeless

Author's Note: Thanks to the ladies :). More at the bottom.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

* * *

Twenty Four: Hope for the Hopeless

I tore the tags off my new wool coat; I'd never been excited to wear an article of clothing before in my life. But it was pretty. I smiled to myself at my girlishness as I slipped my arms into the sleeves. It was the color I'd liked so much when I noticed it in the store, a deep, vibrant blue with black buttons. I checked myself once in the mirror and then headed out the door.

It was my one year anniversary gift to myself. That's how long I'd lived here, on my own for the first time.

On the sidewalk, the leaves crunched under my feet and compulsively I picked one off a low hanging tree branch. A bright yellowish orange. I thought of how my mother loved collecting fall leaves; she'd press them between sheets of cardboard, but never knew what to do with them after that.

I walked to my favorite coffee shop, quiet after the early morning rush. Just inside the door, leaves were scattered over the wood floor, pushed in from the light breeze. I unbuttoned my coat, but left it on as I got in line. My phone buzzed and I pulled it out.

_Happy anniversary, I love you_.

Alice.

I smiled and typed out a message.

_I love you the most._

When I looked up, I noticed the man at the counter ordering. It was an automatic thing and I felt the familiar tugging at my heart as I waited for him to turn around. It was because of his hair. It was that same coppery mess as Edward's. It wasn't him, of course, but it made me remember anyway.

I got two coffees and a newspaper before making my way next door, to the bookshop where I worked.

"Hey baby girl, what are you doing in here on your day off?"

I smiled at my boss; he was about eighty years old and called all the women he knew by that same flirtatious nickname. "Just in the neighborhood, thought you could use the caffeine." I made to hand it over the counter to him, but then pulled it back. "Unless you don't want it," I grinned.

"Hand it over or I'll make you work today."

I did and he sipped from it as if it were manna from heaven. When he was finished, he looked me over. "You look awfully nice today," his eyebrows furrowed deeply and I wondered if he was surprised. "When am I going to see you with a boyfriend?"

My laugh was uncomfortable. "I don't date."

"You know, I have a son who -,"

"Billy! What is he? Sixty?"

"No, smartass, he's thirty two," he leaned over the counter conspiratorially. "Don't say anything, but he was an accident."

I snorted and covered my mouth quickly.

I thought about it sometimes, dating. But I just couldn't. Trying to recapture something I'd had once with a new person, it just wasn't right. Not yet.

And, I thought about it, Edward was thirty two now also. I shook my head.

Billy huffed, "all right, go on girl. I don't want to see you until Monday."

I took my coffee and the paper and went to the park to spend the rest of the morning.

After sweeping a few fallen leaves out of the way, I sat at a little bench just off a jogging trail and opened my paper. I liked to read it from the back section to the front, so I started with Entertainment; there was a theatre production coming to town. My eyes widened when I saw the picture.

_Tanya_.

I skimmed over the caption. _Tanya Denali (Margeurite St. Just) and Eleazar Riverra (Chauvelin) in a scene from The Scarlet Pimpernel._

She was in an ornate dress, her expression earnest and beautiful. _Good for you._

I thought about trying to see her, but knew I wouldn't. It was too much; we weren't living the same lives anymore.

I finished the paper and tucked it into my bag, tossed the empty coffee cup into the trash. I didn't know what to do with my free time on the weekends. During the week, I took classes at the local city college and worked in Billy's store. But in between, sometimes it was hard. Edward was always just a whisper of thought away, a glimpse of pale skin, a shock of unruly hair at the crosswalk, a familiar voice at the grocery store. It still felt unfinished and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to close it up. So I let the seam hang open, tried to work around it.

I stopped at another bookshop, chuckling to myself as I walked in. I mean, I worked in one already, why would I want to spend me free time in one too? But this place was nice, more coffee and food than books. I ordered a big cinnamon roll and settled on one of their big, overstuffed chairs in the back. I pulled a book from my purse and tucked my legs underneath me; I took a bite of the warm pastry, sure that if I ate slowly, they wouldn't mind me sitting here for a while. Around me, other people were doing the same thing; one man had an entire place setting at one of the little tables, his own fork and everything. I leaned back into the cushions, tuning out the dim sounds of the store.

After a while, the cinnamon roll was gone and I was on the last chapters of the book. The man with the table setting had left and every so often I'd hear the chime above the door as someone walked in or out. Have you ever had one of those moments where something happens, something big, and in your memories later, you can recall everything that was going on around you? Well that's what this was. Something pulled at my consciousness; I looked up. At the pick up counter, which was partially obstructed by a bookshelf, a couple was arguing over where to go for lunch.

"Whatever you want, I don't care."

"Well I don't care either, pick something."

A college student sat across from me, studying and looking in need of a full night of sleep. She flipped through handwritten pages of notes, pausing now and again to read the passages. Near the front door, a child brewing a tantrum was being pulled outside by his mother. And at the counter, a familiar voice was ordering coffee.

I couldn't see because of the book shelves, but I turned toward the sound automatically, at once stretching forward and pulling back. I stuck my book in my bag, grabbed my trash, and stood up. I darted between two shelves at the same time he came walking by. It wasn't that I wanted to hide, but that I had been wrong so many times before. Wishful thinking, you know.

He took the seat I'd just left; he had coffee in one hand, a book in the other. He leaned up and rolled his shoulders before sinking back; I could almost hear the relaxed exhalation.

It was him. It was Edward.

I stepped back feeling this urge to call someone from my therapy group immediately, but instead I stayed. I watched him talking on his phone, he chuckled quietly at something; he looked happy. When he ended the call, he grinned and shook his head slightly. I thought about stepping out from my hiding place, saying hello, trying to be normal. But for some reason I thought of Tanya and how even seeing her was too much. I looked at him again; he looked good, better than good actually. I decided I couldn't do that to him; he deserved the peace that our being apart gave him.

_I'd found it. _I hadn't thought the phrase in so long, but it was no less true now than it had been. But maybe this was good. Maybe seeing him was what I needed; now I could sew up that last seam.

_Goodbye._

I buttoned my coat and turned to leave, took a few steps. I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over, stuck my hands in my pockets, told myself it was the right thing. I could finally let that last part go. I reached the door and pushed it open, welcoming the rush of crisp autumn air. Outside, the leaves lifted in the breeze and I took a moment to grab a tie for my hair, needing the distraction for my hands. When I was finished I took a deep breath, looked to my left, toward home, and then the right, toward the market, and tried to decide which way to go.

"Bella?"

I didn't answer; the hope felt so unreal to me.

"Bella, is that you?"

I had no idea what to do, so for better or worse, I was just myself. I turned around, not holding back the smile. "Edward, I…wow," it was all I could manage and I felt silly. I shook my head at the inept greeting.

His smile was warm; it creased the corners of his eyes. Up close, he looked even better than I'd remembered. His hair was exactly the same, but his face was different, slightly more weathered, like he spent a lot of time outside. But, despite that, his skin was still that moon paleness that I knew from years ago. He opened his mouth to say something, but then the door opened beside us and we had to move out of the way of an exiting patron. "Bella," he said again.

I smiled. "Edward, it's been…how are you?"

When another customer opened the door, I motioned toward the left and we started walking.

He cleared his throat, "I'm good," he stuck his hands in the pockets of his coat. "How are you? Do you live here now?"

"I do; I've been here about a year. How are you?"

He smiled, "you asked me that already."

I looked toward the sidewalk, trying to stave off the color blossoming on my cheeks. "Are you…still living in Los Angeles?"

"No, I…I live here, actually."

"Oh?" That unreal hopeful feeling welled up inside me, but I tamped it down, a lot had happened since the hospital, and he wasn't living the same life anymore either.

"Yeah, since yesterday."

I took that in; he was here now, permanently. I would probably see him again, even if only by accident. But that would have to be all, I decided. I had put him through enough for one lifetime.

I was surprised when I arrived at my doorstep on autopilot; it seemed like too short a walk. "This is me," I motioned toward the stone steps.

He smiled again in that warm way that sent a current over my skin. And then he stepped in and leaned down, slowly pressing his lips to my cheek. "It was good to see you, Bella," he said before straightening.

I put a hand to my face, memorizing the way the kiss had felt. I swallowed, "good to see you too, Edward." I took a couple of steps back after giving him an awkward goodbye and then turned, determined to make it back to my apartment without looking foolish. I could do this, I thought, I had to. When I reached the door, I fumbled with the lock. I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. I had grown up enough now to know it wasn't going to be easy. I got the key in the lock and turned.

"Have dinner with me." His voice called out from the bottom of the steps.

I froze. What? I looked behind me. "I…," I had no idea what to say. Edward still had his hands in his pockets, his expression boyish and a little shy. I shook my head, "I don't know…That might not be a good idea."

He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, understanding hitting him. He nodded, took a step back.

I felt pulled in two directions and that clichéd question ran through my head. What if the best thing and the right thing weren't the same? I spoke again before I was able to think about it too much. "Wait."

He looked up at me.

My smile was tentative, but hopeful. "Yes, yes I'll have dinner with you."

* * *

Author's Note: So I have a question - The next part is either going to be the dinner, or I can post a chapter from Edward's point of view of their time apart (either option won't make a difference when it comes to how fast it'll get posted). The Edward chapter interrupts the flow a little, which is why I'd like your input. Let me know what you think!


	26. Twenty Five: Any Other Time and Place

Author's Note: Hi, thanks for reading :). Ok, so this is the last chapter, but there's an epilogue that should be up within the next few days. I got a resounding yes to a chapter about what happened to Edward, so here it is. I've combined it with the dinner to keep it from seeming out of place.

I meant to answer this question when I updated last, but forgot. Timeline for the story: Bella goes into the hospital in May, Bella and Edward leave at the middle/end of July. Once she's back, 15 months pass as Bella goes through therapy and then lives with Alice and Jasper; this would put us at October of the next year and this is when she moves away. When she sees Edward again, it is the next October (remember she mentions it being her one year anniversary). So, from the last time she sees Edward in the hospital to the time she sees him at the book store, two years and three months have passed.

More at the bottom.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

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Twenty Five: Any Other Time and Place

I don't know why I asked her to dinner, like this was going to be a friendly conversation over entrées and wine. I guess I was aiming for normal.

"Hi," I leaned down after she opened the door and kissed her cheek for the second time that day. She smiled at me and shut the door behind her; she had that blue coat on again. It was part of the reason I'd noticed her at the bookstore in the first place. She was just outside the glass doors, this little bright spot of color that I couldn't help but look at. I noticed whatever it was that had been missing when I knew her, it was back in place. And now, after all of it, I still wanted to tell her I was sorry.

"Is Rosa's ok?" It was the only restaurant I knew of in the city and it was close enough to walk to.

She nodded, but didn't say anything.

The first half of the walk was less than comfortable, but I'm not sure what I was expecting. Apparently, Bella felt it too because after five minutes of relative silence, she said, frustrated, "I don't know how to ask this." She kept her eyes toward the sidewalk, "Where have you been?"

I stuck my hands in my coat pockets; I hadn't planned on telling her everything, but I knew I would if she asked. "That's…a really long story."

She bit her lip, released it. "I want to know what happened."

"All of it?"

She looked at me and nodded, "all of it."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Once Bella was through the doors with Esme, a crack in the earth appeared beneath my feet. Vertigo.

I saw their faces, the people around me, but I didn't care. If anything, I wanted them to look at me like that; I drowned in it.

And then Charlie was in my face and there was yelling, him at me, Bella's friends at the both of us, Carlisle in the middle. But their voices were muddled and then I saw Charlie pull his arm back; it snapped forward and he connected to the side of my face, hard. I put my hand to my cheek reflexively. He yelled, was pulled back by someone. Carlisle told me to go home, but I didn't know where that was.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"My dad hit you?" Her eyebrows knitted together.

How much did she not know? I touched the small of her back and opened the restaurant door for her. "I deserved it."

"No, you didn't."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

That night, and for several nights after, I drank. I thought about Bella and how I'd royally fucked up my life. A life that I didn't think was all that great to begin with and I wanted it back. But what did I do, really? How many people did I actually help? No one, I thought.

A job I'd never cared about, a city I hated, a friend I'd betrayed.

And God, I missed Bella so fucking much.

During those early days, Carlisle called, told me to come and clean out my office; he said someone would be waiting to escort me because they couldn't allow me to be unsupervised. His voice had a forced edge, like he didn't want to be so angry. I got up and left, tried not to care.

It was Carlisle that was waiting for me at the entrance. When I came inside, he looked me up and down, then turned and walked toward the bank of elevators. The silence was uncomfortable and I felt the thin vine of shame snaking up from my feet; it wrapped around and squeezed, testing my strength and then pulling tighter. By the time we were at my office, I couldn't breathe.

There was an empty box on the desk; Carlisle waited in the doorway, arms crossed against his chest. I dropped things in haphazardly, one at a time. I looked at the bookshelves, couldn't remember which ones actually belonged to me. I grabbed a few that would fit in the box and when I looked around, it was like I'd never occupied the space.

"You've been requested to meet with Internal Review and the ethics committee; I took the liberty of scheduling both."

When I got close enough, he stuck a piece of paper with the information in the box.

"They're not pressing charges, by the way."

I stopped, surprised.

"She says you didn't make her doing anything she didn't want to do. She won't testify."

I waited, hoping for any more information. How was she doing? Did she hate me? Had she asked for me? Was she eating enough? Was she sleeping?

"Stay away from her, Edward."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A waitress took us to a table and we followed quietly behind.

"Thank you, by the way." I told her, my voice hushed.

"For what? Not testifying?" She looked up at me and frowned, "Edward," she admonished, as if the notion was ridiculous that she might have.

"I wouldn't have blamed you."

We sat down across from each other and Bella waited until we were alone again to say anything. "What we did…it was my decision too," she looked up from the table, "I knew what I was doing."

The words came faster then and, in direct opposition to the subject matter, we both seemed to relax. I think we needed this.

She spoke up again. "And I had…asked for you, I mean."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

At the meetings, a week later, things kind of fell apart. I was ordered to stay off the property, but that was the least of it.

I lost my license.

And that would follow me forever. Any job I applied for that involved a patient, or a client, or a student, those possibilities were gone.

I had nothing to fall back on. I was a doctor; I didn't know how to be anything else.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Edward," she reached a hand out, but then stopped, resting it on the table instead. "I had no idea…I thought, I don't know…," she shook her head, moving inside, skimming her own memories.

I watched her, afraid she was blaming herself. "Bella, I never wanted to be a doctor -," she opened her mouth to speak, but I kept talking. "It's what my father wanted…I never really had much of a choice."

"But…you were good."

I could see her struggling with it and I tried to explain. "No, maybe I was good once, but not by the time I met you."

She looked at me thoughtfully. "Going through the motions?"

The waitress took our order and when she left, I nodded. "Exactly."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

So, for a while, things were bad.

I lost my friends, not that I had many, because they were all doctors and thought what I did was unforgivable. I didn't necessarily disagree.

I stayed home, lived off my savings, made a half hearted attempt at drinking myself to death. And I thought about Bella. How I hoped she was better off now, getting the help she really needed. I dreamed about her, underwater at Big Sur for that almost unreal amount of time, walking along the boardwalk at a beach somewhere, smiling, laughing.

I started driving by the hospital during the day. I'd park as close as I could, watching for…I don't know what.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"You were there?"

I nodded, took a sip of water; she must have thought I was deranged. "It was my lowest point, I think."

"Hm," she said, resting her chin in her hand. I took that as permission to continue.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On one of those afternoons, I'd dozed off, only to be woken up by a tap on the window. I looked up, bleary eyed and hung over. I squinted, "Carlisle?"

"Get in the passenger seat, Edward."

"What are you doing out here?"

"Driving you home, move."

I did as I was told, crawling over the center console.

"Have you been drinking?" He eyed me as he started the engine.

"Not since…yesterday?"

He drove me home and didn't say anything until we were inside my apartment.

"Jesus, Edward," he looked around at the mess. Half full take out containers and dirty clothes, my box of office things dumped out in the living room. He walked over to the kitchen and searched through the cabinets until he came up with a clean glass and some aspirin. He filled the glass with water. "Here," he handed it over, "take these."

"You don't have to -,"

"Why haven't you been going to therapy?"

"What?" I said, though I remembered.

"It was required by the ethics committee, you can't just skip it," he sounded like a stern parent.

"Because it's all bullshit Carlisle," I took the aspirin, chased them with the water. "We spew the same crap to everyone and call it therapy, what good is it going to do me?" I still couldn't quite meet his eyes.

"You think what I've dedicated my life to is bullshit?" He shook his head and kept talking while I ignored him, opening the freezer, searching for the liquor bottle I was sure was still in there.

He slammed it shut, hard.

"What the fuck? Don't treat me like a child."

His voice rose. "Don't act like one." He ran a hand through his hair, "fine, you want to ruin your life, go ahead. I don't need this." He turned and stalked toward the front door and because I couldn't bear to watch one more person turn away from me so disappointed, I spoke up.

"I've got nothing left, Carlisle." I kept my head down.

His voice was heavy and tired. "Yes you do, but you've got to figure that out yourself."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I owe him so much," I paused as the food came.

"Do you talk to him at all anymore?" Bella reached for her silverware, draping the napkin in her lap. It was so strange to me to be having this conversation, and for her to be so calm about it. I didn't know how she was taking it, but I was open to her. She could say or do whatever she wanted; I would take it gladly.

"Yeah, he stuck by me after that. We're not as close, but…we're good."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

So, still because I had to and not because I thought it would help, I went to therapy. At first, it didn't go well. I thought I could analyze myself better than the doctor; I think I was trying to make him give up so I'd have one more thing go wrong. I was wallowing in it, I craved the dark.

And then one day I saw Bella, my one bright light. She was with a few other people I didn't recognize, plus two nurses which I did.

I was on the university campus using a pool to swim laps, being sedentary was finally getting to me and the water reminded me of Bella. She was at the next pool over in the huge outdoor space; her hair was loose and her expression I recognized – that returning to her element kind of look. I stopped in the middle of my lane to watch. She glanced over to a nurse as if asking permission and then moved to the edge. She stretched, leaned forward and then, so quick that I almost missed it, dove in.

She was happy and more than anything, more than I wanted to be with her, that's what I wanted.

_She wants it for you, too._

So at first, I did it for her. I talked to the doctor the best I knew how, but it was hard to shut off that analytical part of my mind. _That's denial…now you're projecting…you're not being completely honest with yourself_. But the doctor was good, better than I ever was.

Things got better.

Then one day he asked me, "so, what is it you want to do with your life now?"

My first thought was that it was a loaded question. But it was something I'd started asking myself, _what do I do now? _My savings was dwindling and I was trained for nothing. I told him the truth, "I have no idea."

"Good," he said. "Now go figure it out."

First it was for Bella because there was this part of me that thought if I could get better enough, we could be together.

But after that, I knew it couldn't be that way anymore. It was my screwed up life; I had to fix it and I had to live it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

We got up after splitting the check and I helped Bella into her coat. She didn't say anything until we got outside. "So, what are you doing now?"

"Journalism, copywriting right now, that's why I moved here; The Chronicle offered me a job."

She glanced at me, "do you like it?"

"Yeah…a lot."

I asked her what she was doing and she told me about going to school and how she wanted to open a center for young people.

"Sort of like a safe house, you know? For people like I was…that feel they have no place else to go."

I listened to her plans and felt the pride welling up in my chest; she had thought of this, all on her own. "Bella that's…that's such a great idea."

She smiled, still bright and animated; she talked with her hands. "Kate's a social worker, so I think it'll help. And -,"

"Kate?" I asked as we approached her apartment.

"She's my partner, I mean, she's going to be. I know her from my therapy group. She knows a lot more about social services and different programs we'd have to work with," she paused to take a breath and sit on the front stoop. "We've only talked about it, but she's really excited too. There's nothing like that around here."

I sat down next to her and smiled at her enthusiasm. "I could help…if you wanted. I may not be a doctor anymore," I saw her wince a little and had to remind myself that I'd only just told her about that an hour ago, "but I still know a few people. I think this might be something that Carlisle would be interested in."

"Really? That's…Edward, you don't have to…," she trailed off, staring at her hands that hung clasped between her knees. "I want to…I need to apologize…,"

I frowned at the change of subject, "why?" I thought of the apology I wanted to make to her.

"For…well, for everything from…before. I was in so much pain and I was so messed up." She shifted to look at me, "This doesn't sound like it's enough, but…I never meant for that to happen. You were just trying to be my doctor and I pushed you…I'm just so sorry." She held my gaze.

I shook my head, looked down at my hands and then back up to her. "Bella, you have nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one that knew better and -,"

"Edward, you don't have to take all the blame. I'm the one who -,"

I huffed a quiet laugh, I couldn't help it. "This could go on all night."

She gave me a half hearted smile.

When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." I thought about what I wanted to say, unsure of its implications. "But I wouldn't take it back."

She looked at me, confusion mixed with something else, something that made her whole face brighten. A couple walked past us, their pace unhurried; they held gloved hands and shared murmured conversations.

"I'm sorry for what happened, but I don't regret it." I scooted closer on the stone step until our legs touched. _Say it. _"Bella, you were the best thing that's ever happened to me." I thought about how it felt loving her, how I'd never really stopped. I thought about losing her, losing my job and my friends, and then starting over from zero. Somehow, in all of that, I'd figured it out on my own. "Listen, I'm not asking you to consider anything," I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly nervous. "I just…want to know you, if, if you'd be willing to -,"

Her lips parted as if to speak. And then she leaned toward me; I watched her eyes flutter closed before I came down to meet her. The first kiss was tentative, but felt like coming home. We parted barely and then I touched her face, bringing her to me again. I leaned my free hand on the cold step, touched her forehead with mine. "God, I've missed you."

I kissed her again, this time deeply, more like I'd wanted to when I first saw her. Her kiss was different than I remembered, more sure; I felt her fingers at the back of my neck, slow and soft as they moved up into my hair. Her lips parted and I tasted her and it was so good and sometime during this, that last piece clicked into place.

After I don't know how long, I helped Bella to her feet and walked with her to the door. I thought about how much I wanted her to invite me in, but that even if she did, I'd say no. Masochist, right? Well, not exactly. By some miracle, we were here, we were together and it was ok. So I wanted it to be right, I wanted to take my time with it, and I think she did too.

She said goodnight and I kissed her again before I left. On the way home, I remembered something I'd said to her in the hospital once, "I'd give it all up." I suppose in a way, I did.

I had wished every night during that dark time that when I woke up in the morning, I'd be somewhere else, in some other life, and that Bella would be there with me. And while I don't usually use words like fate, whatever that is, it's a funny thing. Because I am somewhere else, in another life, but it's my own. And Bella's with me and I'll be with her, as long as she'll have me.

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Author's Note: I promise promise that I haven't stopped working on "Reality" in case you're wondering. I was having some major not good feelings about it and where it was going, but over the last few days I think I've figured it out. So, I'm going to post the epilogue to this and then I'm going to take a few days (I promise by days I don't actually mean weeks) to chill out and just write without posting right away. But it's definitely not abandoned! Thanks so much for your patience with me!!


	27. Epilogue: Every Day

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone, I heart you guys. Ok, this is all in Edward's point of view. More at the bottom.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

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Epilogue: Every Day

I have the alarm set to a classical music station, but that doesn't diminish the desire I sometimes have to throw it against the wall in the morning. It's six thirty a.m. I wake up alone.

I get up, shower, shave, and try to make some sense of the mess atop my head. Failing at that, I get dressed and head downstairs.

Breakfast time – eggs, potatoes, bacon, no toast. My nerves tend to translate into hunger though I don't have to do anything today but watch. And I've found over the years that I have a strange knack for cooking. I eat everything straight out of the pans before sticking them in the dishwasher. I swallow down a small glass of orange juice and check my watch. Seven fifteen. I have time.

I sit at the little kitchen table and try to remember where I left my shoes. By the front door?...No…the living room. I get up and pad over to where they sit under the coffee table, resisting the urge to look at the soft, thick cushions of the couch; I don't even sit down on it to put my shoes on. I don't think I could fall back to sleep even I wanted to anyway. I grab my worn out messenger bag, inside there's a few notebooks, about a dozen pens, a voice recorder, extra batteries, a digital camera, press pass for today, my glasses case, and my cell phone. Slipping on my coat, I decide to leave a little early because I can't wait anymore.

Outside, I reach down and grab the newspaper, stick it in my bag. My byline is on the front page today and I barely suppress the smile as I walk down the street to my car.

There's already a crowd forming outside the small brick building when I get there. We all stand in the grass; I listen to the conversation buzz and look at the trees. The leaves are changing again; it's her favorite time of year.

I can feel someone looking at me and so I turn to my left; it's Alice and Jasper. I nod in greeting, but don't walk over. Alice's face is perpetually wary, but she has softened a lot; she talks to me now. Jasper cracks a smile, with him it was easier. But he'll stay by Alice's side in whichever direction her opinion goes and I admire that kind of loyalty. I smile toward them and see Jasper motion behind me; I turn and look.

It's Charlie. My nerves ratchet up a notch as he sees me; he seems to take pleasure in my light anxiety. He comes to stand next to me though I don't know why. I nod at him. "Charlie."

And to my astonishment, he pulls his hand out of his jacket pocket to shake mine. It's just a tiny bit tighter than one might deem appropriate. He notices my surprise at the gesture and clears his throat. "It's her day." He sticks his hand back in his pocket and faces the little stage.

It was probably the best I was going to get from him for now, but that was alright. Just the fact that he was willing to stand next to me for a purpose other than the infliction of physical harm was a testament to how far things had come. Slowly, but surely.

When I look up again, Kate is on the stage; she's excited. She sees me and waves; I wave back. She winks at her husband who is standing front and center.

And then Bella walks on stage and Charlie glances at me again, but I don't care. She sits down on one of a few folding chairs and I'm dimly aware that she's sitting next to the mayor. I'm supposed to be following this, I remind myself. So I pull out a notebook and glance around to make sure one of my paper's photographers is here.

That first day I bumped into Bella, she told me her idea for a safe house was barely in the planning stages. But it was a little further along than that. And it only took about a year for it to become a reality.

When I told Carlisle about it he was interested, and so was Esme. Interested enough that they were willing to put any worries aside and make a donation that took Bella and Kate's project off the ground. They made it anonymously, but I think she knew.

Bella finds me in the crowd when she gets up to speak. She smiles, blushes. I smile. I am so proud of her.

Charlie's voice is gruff and he doesn't look at me, but he does say, "alright…for her." He doesn't need to say anything else for me to understand.

I keep looking at Bella; she's a little nervous about speaking in front of so many people. I can see her spinning her ring with her thumb. The ring I gave her.

I watch her and think about how this has all been worth it. And I know I would gladly do it all over, every mistake and ounce of loss, if it would bring me right here to this morning. Because to see Bella happy and by my side, my heart is full.

Every day.

end

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Author's Note: Done!

First, thank you to my regular readers, this was a pretty big leap from what I normally write, so thanks for leaping with me. And to the new readers, thanks so much for taking a chance on this story. You guys mean the world to me.

Story related things: The playlist for this is finished; you can find it on my homepage. And no sequel, I think they've been through enough.

I'm going to take a few days off, but I'll be posting again really soon! I just can't seem to stay away :)


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